Category: Poetry

It is easy for me to find things beautiful. The way a man’s hands look when he holds his child. How the corners of the eyes crinkle when someone laughs. Steady sound, rain on a roof. Even the shine of a beetle’s back in sunlight. If you want to find beauty, you just need to learn how to pay attention.

I close in on a particular section of metal plate, where the colors are most vivid and the texture of the decaying metal has the most variety, and there I have it. A found artwork, an inadvertent collaboration of mankind and nature.

I believe that true beauty can be found in contrast. Consider the stars which illuminate the dark night sky, fields which must be burned in order to nourish crops, and the fact that there is no person in this world with a body that is perfectly symmetrical: one toe might be longer than others, a freckle might only be present on one hand.

I am moved by the peculiar. Maybe because it stands out for me and is likely to be real rather than what seems to be perfect but often turns out to be a put on. As a writer, honest writing that minces no words is what I find beautiful. People who are unabashedly themselves are very attractive to me.

What I find beautiful is what I find moves me. To me, beauty is vulnerability, is open, is fluid and raw. It’s something that is able to exist in the real world, but still see beyond the grit. I’m not sure if this makes any sense to anyone else, but as both a reader and a writer, I’ve felt the most beauty in those dark moments that are determined yet to shimmer.