For many years I was told by television, print and other media that I was not beautiful because I did not fit their clothes, their look, their ideals of what beauty was. This is me taking back beauty a small smidgen at a time in poetic fashion:
Raw Beauty by Stefanie Gomez
The bar was real wood, raw it was the first thing she noticed when she walked in
her large frame lumbered into the ill fitting chair that she knew would cut off her circulation.
"A cosmo please." she asked of the much younger prettier bartender who obliged with a genuine smile. She felt so out of place her as she usually did, nothing in this establishment matched her,
the clientele were all sleek and beautiful in a wholesome Northwest sort of way.
Her structured shirt-waisted navy dress clashed with all the sandals and jeans. She was outside looking in on the bohemian revolution, she could never be apart of them, contending with the tyranny of "newness" seemed useless.
She retreated into the fictional time when a woman could be allowed sensuality without others demanding superficial improvements. A time when raw wood no matter how dented, scratched or used up it was could be useful and
in its own usefulness bestow upon itself its own unique and wondrous beauty,
a raw unrelenting passion that through its strength and endurance would encapsulate itself forever
in a favorable light no matter what the years or gods rained down upon it.
It would be forever beautiful not because of any opinion or justification from its patrons
but its own stalwart existence.