“She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.” ~ Joanne Harris
There are countless breaths between the shadows of your eyes and mine—and though you may not be able to spin words into dreams, I only ask that you never tell me I am beautiful.
Beautiful is such a short term phrase—at least for most in the way that they see it. For me, physical beauty is just a compass of commonalities and symmetrical lines that appease those who view it.
I was never meant to appease anyone—and neither were most women.
Although the fashion magazines and billboards seem like they would like us to believe otherwise, I feel we all crave something deeper than just being admired for the way that we look.
We are so much more than beautiful.
We are soul driven, and the madness in a midnight rain. Our minds lick of intelligence, and our hands create life.
I don’t want to be beautiful, but I do want to be inspiring.
I tell my girls, with their big blue eyes looking up into mine, that while they are so beautiful, it is just window dressings…because nothing can compare to their intelligence, and their strong hearts.
Beauty is an understatement, and a betrayal to the woman in all of us who knows that she is just so much more.
I don’t want to make people comfortable; I don’t want to be the saccharine to your sugar.
I have no desire to spin you a web of comfort and lies so that the days only appear filled with light and sunshine.
I want to be told I am wild.
I want to be told that I am the habit that is impossible to quit, and the desire that just doesn’t give up.
I want to be that idea in your mind that keeps you up until 2:00 a.m.
I want to be the smirk on your lips in the middle of your day, and the beat of a heart in your chest.
Women hold the roadmap to a man’s heart in all of the complex imperfections that they hide beneath delicate eyeliner and perfumed wrists—because no man ever fell into love with a woman because of the color on her fingernails, or the make- up upon her skin.
Our beauty does not rest on the number on the scale, or the size within our clothes. It can’t be measured by the length of our hair or the swing of our hips; it’s not to be found within cosmetics, or the plastic surgeons office.
It is found within the tears that fall from our eyes after a hard day; it’s our bed tousled hair at dawn, and the way we trace our dreams with fingertips onto your bare skin.
It’s in the smile at the end of the day that tells you your home.
I don’t want to be beautiful; I want to be unforgettable.
I don’t want to be remembered for the way my hair falls across my bare shoulders, but for the way my mind tickles every insecurity you’ve ever tried to hide.
I want to excite your soul and breathe life into a desire so hot you never thought it possible.
As women, we are a walking contradiction—and it’s in those moments of simple pleasure defined in a complex way that we can best be described.
No, beautiful just don’t do for us.
For we are the walking moon goddesses placed upon this earth to make men remember what love really is.
We are no angels though, not that we are sinners, but we are happily and contently somewhere in between.
We enjoy the movement of our bodies that are uniquely feminine, but yet, we don’t want to be seen or judged for the movement of our feet upon the earth.
Instead, shine down your love onto a woman in order to really make her glow.
Fall head first into the abyss of her eyes, and let her know that there simply is no exit from the magic that she creates.
For all women are magic, it just takes the right sorcerer to see it in us.
We are rocking babies at 4:00 a.m., and clothes stained with peanut butter and jelly. We are finger painting in the sunlight of summer, and the slow sway of lace upon our hips when we are in your arms.
I don’t want to be beautiful; I just simply want to be me.
I want to be chaos and freedom.
For every woman feels the pull of the stars in her hair, and the scent of the universe upon her skin. She senses she is part of a bigger picture, and that her breath isn’t mean to just satisfy, but to excite.
We are sharp minds, a quick wit and a deviant temper that sometimes even gets the best of us. We are sweet tea and whiskey, and simply, we are the best of everything.
Not because we are a “real woman,” but because we are simply a flawlessly flawed woman.
We are not only comfortable in our skin, but at home in our imperfections, and the greatest gift a lover can give us is not to acknowledge our beauty—but to praise our real.
For it is within all of our flaws that true beauty is found.
So kiss the tears from my eyes, brush the dirt off my cheek and hold my spirit in your hands, but please don’t look for beauty, but instead touch it because that is the beauty that will still be there when we are 102.
Because when you close your eyes and think of me, it’s not how I look that makes your heart quiver—but how I make you feel.
And that is the most beautiful thing of all.
Author: Kate Rose
Editor: Travis May
Photo credits: Flickr/F Mira