Loving

 

Loving the world means loving the wobbles

Because the real beauty is in the imperfections.

The notes sung slightly off key

With all the confidence of a five-year-old.

The slightly blurry photo of a moment of laughter

The slight limp in a person’s swagger

The hiccup of doubt that creeps to the surface,

The curviness of a body that has been well-loved

The crooked grin of affection

The beauty of the world is not in the silver lining of a cloud

But the whole massive storm that rains down and washes the earth.

It’s the freckled face of a person looking to hide her beauty

The cactus that has found life in the crook of a tree

The wrinkles on a face  that map a person’s story

The track of a tear down a cheek,

The last worldly embrace from my father.

It’s the beauty big and small 

Overwhelming and consistent

It’s trying to find that one redeeming quality

That gives hope to the hopeless.

It’s in learning to love every piece of me

With reckless abandon.

Rachael Collins