Flawed.
I look at my face each morning and see the haphazard freckles scattering around my nose, spreading towards the poles of my cheeks. I can see tints of darkened skin on my forehead, from gazing for too long in the sun, extending my exposure, to induce a little bit more warmth to my body. I have also noticed the veins underneath the fine skin below my eyes becoming more prominent, gaining more blueness as the colour escapes my complexion in the winter months. I’m flawed, dearest. I keep counting those imperfections, acknowledging them, so that I can tell you about their secrets when the time comes. I’m proud of each one of them, because they are not my signs of weakness, but strengths and omens of empowerment. I treasure the cracks in my skin, the faintness of my voice, the thinness of my hair. I’m a collection made by God, and I seek beauty no matter where it is, even if it is within me. Sometimes I forget all about who I am and watch the world parade in the vastness in ...