Bums, boobs, eyes; arms, waists, thighs… all these things are the shell in which true beauty lives.
Maybe you fit the definition of ‘beautiful’ as fed to us by the publishers who hope we’ll buy their magazine that helps us with a special diet.
Maybe you fit the concept of ‘perfect’ as given to us by the marketing industry so desperate to have us running after their cynical positioning of our self-content within their premise: ‘acceptance from others’.
Or maybe you’re who you are. Flawed? Yes. Abnormal? Check that one, too. Outside the ‘beauty’ structure? Undoubtedly.
But you’re you. You’re who you are.
The world tells you that you should look like this, think that, and have a particular waist size, and you couldn’t give a solitary fuck. You know what you believe and you will not be shaken. You stand for your principles in spite of a world which would have you squeeze inside a box that you will never fit the shape for.
You ask for my kryptonite, and it’s this: somebody who is willing to stare down the status quo and believe that there are others who join hands with them in their passion, even if they don’t see it physically at that time. Somebody who is determined, with justice and equality in their eyes, to draw a line in the sand and believe the world is better by making a stand for their passions.
Me? I’m a heart man.