since Grace permits...

Not really Beautiful

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Dear world, there is more to me.

I am beautiful! Just the other day, I found out. I had an ankle-length skirt on with a long sleeved tight fitting top. My eyes were done; black shadows and highlights to bring them out, lips; deep red and ready for a pout, and cheeks; full and well contoured. That morning I couldn’t face the world, and frankly I never wanted to. Everything was sensual. To be and being that way, I felt a fog was placed over who I was.

After persuasion, I did indeed leave the house. Days like these where I feel like I can’t even afford a drop of water on my hair, when I cross the road with my “skirts raised 3 inches above my ankle with my right hand” thanks to reading Emily Thornwell’s The Lady’s Guide to Perfect Gentility, I feel immensely burdened with the self. The self of which I am trying so hard to lose.

Dear Reader, the world has gone beyond materialism we need a new term to describe it, social media is the new society and it has many expensive dictates. Life is virtual and we dress to impress, and not exactly just to cover up. Living, today, is beyond roller-coaster speed that even a timeout with a cup of coffee in the balcony doesn’t calm any nerves. And the more social we are, the more cocooning of our actual persons.

I want to die to the abuse of having to make a statement, having to be seen and noticed, having to be admired, having to be sick but never knowing, having to gain two ounces of validation from the selfies I take each day. Dear world, there is more to me. I am not beautiful. No. Not until the greater good of humanity matters to me, and I fulfill much greater purpose of being human rather than just merely existing. I am not beautiful.

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5 thoughts on “Not really Beautiful”

    1. Fearfully and wonderfully made. That’s true. Each one us is a unique masterpiece of God’s perfect artistry, but the is more. There is more behind the skin and face, isn’t there? Beauty’s vocabulary is just too lacking to define life, in essence and core.

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