If everyone could fit inside a mould,
we’d have been monochromatic,
the color of diversity would’ve faded,
-the definition of what we call tragic.
Look at all the books you’ve read,
all the poems you’ve admired,
all the quotes pinned to your wall,
that defines beauty,
if anything does at all.
Beauty is in your warm soups,
the pens you think are pretty,
in the jeans you always wear,
the books you’ve cried upon.
Beauty is in falling off a swing,
and laughing till it hurts your sides,
You are beautiful, believe me
You are like art,
Never meant to strike the eyes,
You’re there to make them feel.
For art never begs for attention,
you’re there to capture,
everything a human heart feels.