Who Decided What Beauty Is?

Who decided what beauty is?

In the dictionary,

it is considered pleasing to the senses,

especially sight.

To me, it is when a rescued animal

curls up to you for the first time,

or the smell of rain

teasing the heat wave, or choosing

to wear my heart on my sleeve.

Who decided what beauty isn’t?

Because I have never

felt uglier than after

hearing hatred

about the image of a woman

with a sparrow’s voice

or opinions

admonishing the passion

of someone whose best friend

once told them they were enough.

Who decided what is pleasing?

Because I love

being draped in baggy, frayed

jeans and remnants of yesterday.

I bathe in mud

instead of milk.

I walk the path of could

instead of should.

Who decided we must

appear without

time’s loving impressions?

Even children

newly learning to leap,

students who forgot

how to sleep,

and aging bodies

just as terrified as the younger?

You could teach me

the“must-try”

trends for covering

my flaws,

but I will always decide

they are not.

Because what I find pleasing

is the raccoon snuggling

her kits in a rotten tree trunk.

Beauty is the first time

someone tries

to be vulnerable and is answered

with kindness.

It is knowing I can ditch the rose-tinted

lenses, if even for a moment.

There is nothing more wholesome,

pleasant, gorgeous

than a body who knows

they can simply exist.