tell me what is

(http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/alicia-savage-morning-light-imagined/)

I used to make these

lists

scrawled onto scrap

paper written desperately

with ink in a

child’s old journal sometimes

even on my hands, my arms,

those problematic thighs

beneath the school desk

of nothing inspirational

no to-dos or groceries,

just this:

teeth not white enough

laughter not bright enough

too thick, too sensitive

too irrational

too much of nothing.

 

eventually I burned all the

stationery I stopped

reminding myself of

silly human imperfections

even stopped looking in

the mirror for a while

because if I couldn’t

love me at least I

could forget what it

was I longed to

change, and I have

since glimpsed my

reflection in those

who’ve tried to

tell me what is

good and every time

I stay a little longer,

look a little deeper,

maybe even understand.

Rose

(http://www.boredpanda.com/surreal-self-portraits-noell-s-oszvald/)

 

Rose buried her voice

in their garden,

it was after midnight.

 

she shoveled out a shallow grave

placed the mess inside

patted the dirt with the back of her hand

felt her way to a flat piece of earth

somewhere to mourn in silence

(all she had now).

 

the moon went up, she drifted

somewhere over

waves of breath she heard him,

remembered the way his chest

would vibrate with every important word

she never focused on,

only felt with fingertips.

 

Rose was a child for

all twenty six years

so eager

in her mother’s high heels

she slipped thin limbs

around his waist

she hung limp like

an eager girl.

 

masquerading as a woman

had left her with a man that

let his arms fall like a dying avalanche

from her hips,

the worst of this life,

a fading love.

 

in one last

flailing attempt

she threw on her black boots

took her insecurities from the

kitchen drawer and

trekked to the garden

(tiptoed past the gardenias).

 

she kneeled in the soil, Rose

and admitted

for the first time

that she was beautiful

roughly, pathetically, beautiful.

Beautiful Imperfections

Blah. That’s all I got.

Okay – that’s not all I got, but my body feels like it’s going to crumble into a million tiny pieces. We are still short-staffed at work ::cue the violins:: and every one of us is working 5-6 days a week. It wouldn’t be so bad if the majority of customers weren’t jackasses. Thanks for tipping me 60 cent on $50. Choke on your cheesesteak. Have a nice day.

I’m still wiping away the snot and tears – so attractive – from this video I just watched over at my pretend mama’s blog. It’s truly a shame, the way some of us see ourselves. But I have to say I fall deep into this category. Like GingerSnaap said, had I been the one on the other side of that curtain I would have done the same. thing.

“I have a weak chin,” I’d blurt out. “My nose is sorta pointy. Oh, and I definitely have the forehead of a Neanderthal. My eyebrows are waaaaaaay too low. It’s especially noticeable when I smile.”

“That ‘beauty’ mark on the right side of my jawline is annoying too.”

I went to the gym before work this morning. (Marathon day is next Sunday and I’m trying to get in those few last runs AND a bit of weight training; whatever it takes to make me feel a bit stronger.) As I approached the “12 minute Abs” section, I walked by a few men weight training nearby. As I passed, for whatever reason I sucked in my gut. I was embarrassed. I felt fat. I felt like I didn’t belong. Unfortunately, this has become sort of a subconscious thing for me – before today – and I’m just now realizing how sad it is. These people probably didn’t even notice me, let alone look at me like “what’s with the fat girl in the ‘ab’ area? She doesn’t have any abs to work on”. After years and years of being embarrassed of/worrying about my appearance, this has become my norm.

But this has to stop.

I’ve received compliments on the weight I’ve lost. I’ve been called “tiny” – “skinny” even. Today, a male customer wrote this on their check:

“You’re great, and you’re REALLY pretty!”

So for a few hours, my ego went way, way up. Then it went down again. The norm.

No one is perfect, are they? But we all matter. We are loved. There is someone who thinks we are beautiful from head to toe to snorting laugh to ugly cry. Joe still kisses me good morning when there’s eyeliner streaked across my face and bags the size of Texas beneath my eyes. He laughs and calls me Pig Pen when I haven’t washed my hair for 3 days, but then he pulls me close to him. So why not crumble up those insecurities and toss them in the recycling bin?

We say we’ll try, we say we’ll stop, but it really is a struggle. All I can say is good luck. Let’s try our best; we are beautiful, no matter what they say…words won’t bring us down….

Oh wait, sorry. Had a bit of a Christina moment there.

I love you all. And you are all beautiful, beautiful people.

xoxo,

Nicole

P.S.

Thank you for the inspiration for this post, mama.

Visit GingerSnaap and her beautiful words (and self) here: http://ohmygawdjustdowhatisay.wordpress.com/

 

DivaSkin101

Hey everyone! A quick plug here, but it’s totally worth it.

My mother recently started her own skincare line of all natural, handmade products. She’s always been passionate about skincare and wanted to try her hand at making her own face wash, face cream, body cream, bubble bath, etc.

I’m lucky enough as the daughter, of course, to test a few products here and there, and so far I love everything (I highly recommend the sugar lip scrubs). She designed the website herself, and is always hard at work making everything by hand. So please – check her out, buy something for yourself, your mom, your sister, your wife – and pass it along. 🙂

She is very passionate about what she does; oh, and everything is ridiculously well priced, too.

Happy Sunday! What a great day to do some online shopping, eh?

http://www.divaskin101.com/

What’s so great about a “perfect” figure, anyway?

I suppose the made-of-plastic thing could be considered a downfall...

So it pretty much ensures you look good in anything. Pft. So you never have to suck anything in when you sit down, or occasionally lye on your back to get your pants zipped. SO WHAT!

At least I’ll save some money during a trip to the mall, my wallet eased by the reassurance that I’ll only find one or two outfits that won’t make me look like I’m carrying twins.

Maybe it’s more interesting, to not be a knockout in every outfit; when I find that skirt that looks just right, or that jacket that instantly melts away ten pounds, I rock the hell out of it.

Love handles exist for a reason. Where do you think they get their name?

Ugh.

This post is a reminder – a reminder for myself, and for the millions of other girls (and guys) that are constantly picking at themselves. In the past year, I have dropped about 30 pounds. Do I feel good? I feel great. Do I look good? Better than ever. Has anyone noticed? I receive a virtual pat-on-the-back via Facebook about once a day.

But then the initial happiness of your weight loss sinks in, and you get bored. And you revert back to the picking.

I am not perfect. No one is perfect. I’m sure even Angelina Jolie finds something she dislikes when she looks in the mirror (look, I’m just trying to make myself feel better here). But we need to stop thinking that perfect is possible, and be happy with what we have. Life, loved ones, music, literature. A world out there that is ours for the taking. And so what if we take it all on with a beer gut?

Am I happy to have lost weight? Hell-frikkin-yes. But should I continue obsessing over it every day of my life? Probably not.

Just be healthy, and happy. Remind yourself if you have to (like I do) that there is someone else that finds you beautiful. You should find yourself beautiful. Make yourself believe it.

I think I’m pretty intelligent. Fairly talented. Kinda funny. Moderately likable and attractive. I think I look good in a skirt.

Remember all the good things about yourself, that make you attractive. And so what if my body isn’t 24-34-46? My brain is.