Someone

Told me I was a beauty, on Formspring.
My boyfriend tells me I'm beautiful.
My mother practically shoves "you're beautiful" into my face on a weekly basis.

I'm probably not. I don't plan on fishing for compliments, but I honestly don't think I'm a beauty. Or at least, I don't know what is a beauty any more.

Does being beautiful meant I had to weigh less than 110 pounds? Does beautiful meant my inner thighs can't touch? Does being beautiful meant my hip bones jut out in awkward angles? Does beautiful meant I need to acquire 36D cups? Does beautiful meant I needed Angelina Jolie's lips and Pippa Middleton's ass?

I am... steadily gaining weight. I have a rather pronounced tummy, I wear like size 28 jeans, my face is hardly on par with the ideal golden ratio symmetry math thingy, my boyfriend actually used my chest as a table for his cigarette packet (flipping asswipe), I have hairy knuckles, my complexion is probably blackhead/pimple country, gosh... I could go on and on about my physical appearance (even down to the deficiency in keratin!)

So let's stop nitpicking our birthday suits and perceived deformities - let's talk about the heart. Me, owner of a beautiful heart? Hardly.
I have a blatant lack of respect for authority, I judge mercilessly, I am blunt, frank and rude; I am extremely selfish, untidy, a self-pitying pile of crap and well I could write a novel about all that negativity but that is way too depressing. I have no interest in volunteer work, I am extremely cold towards anyone else that I don't regard my family/friends. I am proud, I gossip, I thrive in chaos... I flick people effortlessly out of my life. I hurt people.

So what do they see me? What beauty is there in me? I'm an ugly little beast hopping around breaking hearts. (not in the romantic sense)

Moments of revelation like these unfurled mostly in the night, hours where I have been left alone substantially sufficient for my brain to map out its own destruction.
Instead of winding up in tears, disgraced by my own flaws, strangely enough I felt at peace. Because I begin to remember the few good things I have done.

Their laughters punched into my memory; their smiles were like sunshine trapped in jars.

Human beings are just like a coin. Heads and tails. Good and bad. Nobody is built like a fairytale villain, whose life forms were driven solely by unleashing evil upon the world/good guys blabla. We do bad things sometimes out of survival instincts, to prolong our stay in this world of dog-eat-dog, to save someone, because we love someone.

I think what is important is learning to forgive ourselves for the treachery we have committed. That's something I'm learning too. There is a beauty in forgiving yourself for something you have done; may it be cheating on your significant other, stealing cash from your parents, shoplifting, smoking a blunt, or blabbing a secret.
I've come to realize how incredibly easy it was to forgive someone in comparison to forgiving yourselves; we are constantly stressing ourselves out with insanely high standards of morality and humanity.

...It's getting late and I realized this is a very strangely assembled blog post. I'm probably experiencing the mania phase of my bipolar, it was extremely challenging trying to piece my thoughts into a legible article. I give up. Pff - but bottom line: beauty isn't a single definition based on your karma, your ass or your heart. It's a way of life.

I don't know if that made sense. If it didn't, disagree this and I'll try to fix a proper explanation. Ok. Sleepy. Bye bye.