A Picked Flower

 Perfection, bounded by its unattainable nature, is what makes it so desirable, yet so intoxicating. 

Accepting Imperfection. 

A nuanced concept for a woman—

We are expected to thrive with perfection, yet are not watered with perfection. 

When our source of light is one another, we must entangle ourselves in the past, present, and future of our shared womanhood.

Through this support, our stems have turned upright, but the edges of our leaves remain withered.

For a flower, there is a constant expectation of beauty, vibrance, and livelihood, even when we are picked. 

We are discarded of as we wilt. 

We are used and then forgotten. 

We are much like a flower. 

Bloomed, picked, and thrown out.

Always expected of perfection. 

As we linger onto our reflection through the transparency of a glass,

As we stop time to check our hair, our makeup, and our smile through the mirror of pixels, 

As we stare at a photograph of ourselves for enough amounts of time that it is distorted,

The features you once before knew as beautiful 

Become imperfect. 

It is always yourself that you see, that you study constantly with seemingly no end.

And soon, that beauty that you’ve recognized at least once in your life, fades into ugliness. 

We no longer deem our “flaws” as unique, but as imperfect—

Our freckles are not deliberately and beautifully placed now, they’re just dirty- looking, and insignificant. 

Our hair isn’t free and wild, flowing perfectly in the direction of the wind, it is just tangled and messy.

How can one thing we used to love, become something we hate?

Something we call ugly. 

We have become so familiarized to our own beauty

That we cannot seem to grasp onto the concept that someday, 

Someone will see a complexion that they’ve never seen before, 

A body that curves and dips in ways they’ve never seen before, 

Eyes that gleam and light up in ways they’ve never seen before. 

The definition of the things that make us, who we are, will turn out to be exhilarating and raw in their minds. 

Every little thing that we’ve become acclimated to seeing in the mirror our entire lives will reflect an entirely new experience for them. 

We cannot be expected of perfection, especially when we are not watered with it, 

So with beauty, we know that it is inevitable to accept imperfectness, as it is the only form of perfect that exists, 

So we hope to one day reach a point

Where it is okay to accept the imperfections of society as well, 

Not because it is perfect, 

But because it is as close as it could be.