though he may not have been beautiful in the stereotypical sense of the word, with a sharp jaw like mountain's peaks or a freckled face like the constellations in the sky, he was absolutely and perfectly magnificent. his softened pale jaw looked like desert scapes with pale grey skies for eyes; he had a face riddled with pale red spots of acne that gave his face a sort of familiar air, a beauty that seemed attainable and not highly out of reach - one that wouldn't make me loath the conventions of societal beauty, rather to bask in what makes individuals special and beautiful in their own sense; his stomach was lined with a small layer of fat, rather than washboard abs of someone who goes to the gym every morning and hates the lack of progress in the mirror; he was so undeniably quirky looking, with his bottom two teeth a tad more crooked than straight, but carrying an absolute heart of gold. he smiled so genuinely with those crooked teeth so wide anyone within a mile radius could fall in love. he poured his soul into living, sketching peculiar landscapes and gold dusted fingertips in the wake of his ghostly sigh. he'd sketch my golden green eyes, sparse eyelashes, and broadened shoulders, kissing me i love you's a thousand times more than any other boy could have. he might not have been beautiful in the typical sense of the word, aesthetic and pleasing to the highest of standards - but he was a perfect sight in any other sense of any other word my lips could bare to breath.
the fear of being loved
By vehementlywritten
a collection of poems about the ins and outs of loving yourself and someone else, sometimes at the same time... More