If you cry, dear
I'll let you
Hold you in my arms
Tell you that you'll be alright
I'll collect your teardrops
And release them outside
On a dandelion seed
And say
"Look at the beauty your sadness created"

And maybe you'll say
"But it's a ****"

And then I'll respond
"But I love and want it in my garden
It's beautiful
And so stubbornly alive
Just like you
Because instead of dying
You cried
And now the world is more magical
Now the world is just more poetry"

And then we'll hold hands
And walk on the same earth
At the same time
And think about how many more dandelions we can grow
If we keep on existing

And we do
And we laugh
And we cry
And we live
And we almost die
But we don't
Because we need to tell more weeds they're beautiful

You say you hate your body
Many people do
But the human body is art
And nature
Which means that so is everything we hate about it

It's okay to have scars
The trees have them too
And they're still beautiful

The stretch marks on your skin
Are but the lightings in the sky
The beautiful, beautiful lighting
And those bumps are the stars

The fat, extra skin, cellulite are just the beautiful ocean water
And our hair is grass in an open field

And all of this is Art
Magic
Poetry
Nature
All of this is beautiful
So are you

They shaped the mold before I arrived,
A perfect cast where all compiled.
I was meant to be poured, settle and fit,
But I hardened too soon and fractured it.
I stretched too far and pulled to wide,
Shattered their mold and stood defied.
They wait, watch and trace my lines
tracking my stance, weighing my fall.
counting the cracks that don't exist at all.

Their sympathy searches for pores in me,
slipping through, expecting decay.
Their fake pity settles like dust on me,
waiting for time to wash me away.

Society can keep chiseling me,
But you know what?
I am a weathered rock.

Before soil met seed or the sun claimed the skies,
There bloomed Nefarys, veiled from mortal eyes
Here, blossoms rose from memory’s breath,
Unbound by season, untouched by death.

Tulip leapt bold with a whip of wild cheer,
While Sunflower spun where the sky poured clear.
Daffodil hummed where the stillness was deep,
And Marigold dreamed in the moon’s drowsy sweep.

Rose sat composed where the soft winds would land,
Her red caught the dusk like a flame in the sand.
Lotus drifted in mirrors, serene yet apart,
Her petals all closed round a hungering heart.

Azure had tended them longer than time,
Brushed every stem, tuned each petal to chime.
“Beauty,” he murmured, “will no longer be same"—
Once mortals confine it to only one name.”

Lotus, half-shadow and moon-painted calm,
Heard Azure's lament like a break in a psalm.
“They’ll crown one as Beauty,” the tiller had sighed—
And something within him curled inward and dried.

And so, he unspooled his whispers with care,
Each one like a tendril uncurling in air.
Lotus, adrift in his mirror bound grace,
Spoke soft to the Rose of her luminous face.

“They sigh when you bloom, they stir when you pass
you were shaped for a throne made of glass.”
Lotus smiled, just enough, and let silence resume
A petal-soft whisper that thickened the gloom.
For envy walks sweetest when cloaked in jest,
And Rose, for the first time, felt thorns in her chest.

Rose blushed, not in bloom, but in tremble and thrill,
Half wanting the crown, half fearing the will.
Then Lotus, with voice like a ripple in shade,
Let rumors unfold in the glens he once stayed,
"She sways with a rhythm quite unknown,
And the petals around her feel overgrown".

To Tulip, he sighed, “She blooms but withdraws.”
To Daffodil, “Power moves soft when it gnaws.”
But Tulip just laughed, “She still smells like spring.
And Daffodil spoke, “She’s rooted past any sting".

Lotus then whispered to sunflower and marigold
"Rose's shine and warmth feels quite controlled".
And Marigold blinked, in a shimmer half-told,
“Her glow feels the same, but her laughter feels cold.”