It's So Pretty | Poetry-For-Thought

 I hate calling things ugly.

It breaks my heart. I find people saying something is ugly, undesirable, annoying; but even if I think those things, momentarily, I feel awful. Let me preface this poem by saying that in no way does this make me a better person than you, or somehow allow me to reach some sort of higher moral standing than any other person. These are my true feelings, and how I honestly feel about life in general. This poem isn't about why I think I'm a better person than you, or why I think I've achieved peak human morality, but is simply to motivate you to try to find a little bit of beauty in seemingly mundane things in your life. Because truly, the more you look, the more beauty you find.

I genuinely think it’s so pretty.

Everything.

There is so much beauty

in every little thing.

So much joy when I hear

my cell phone alarm ring,

the little melody that plays

when the birds wake up and sing.

When the sun shines through my window,

as much as it irritates me to know

that it’s time to get out of bed.

How lovely it is

when the sun shines on my skin.

Covering my eyelids, closed and thin,

a golden color

full of the youth of a new day.

My hair tangled and wild,

my half-open bedroom door,

my calves and my eyes sore,

my nose-stud half out.

The cold touch of the leather couch,

the little bees and bugs outside,

roaming near the little flowers,

buzzing and frolicking for hours,

then floating away.

Even the creepy bugs that may startle me,

the ones with many legs and many eyes,

they’re all so beautiful.

How many places they must’ve traveled,

how many things they must’ve seen.

The “ugly swamp green” no one seems to like,

The moths that flutter near sources of light.

Such beautiful creatures they must be,

for they are cast out, hated by society,

yet all they seem to love,

all they seem to want,

is the nearest twinkle of light they can see.

That pink sweater from when I was six,

Not the peak of fashion, but I was in love with it.

The taste of soup when I’m sick.

The grass on my feet, the wind in my hair,

The trees when they shake, the cool evening air,

My blankets, my bed,

my friends and my family, the thoughts in my head,

the smell of my perfumes,

of apple blossoms and lavender.

The bunnies and squirrels, though they eat our plants,

They’re hungry, like us, and we get to feed them,

and what could be a greater thing than that?

Everything Earth has given us,

and everything we’ve given ourselves,

everything in the world

with a little bit of joy,

a little bit of love,

and a little bit of us.

I just think it’s all so pretty.