Near Beauty

I don't believe in beauty. I believe in near beauty. The child with a partially-formed twin on her head has paintbrush eyelashes. My son gave me a dark look as dark as the look I was giving him and this pleased me to see us communicate thus. I do not believe in beauty. I believe in endorphins, making the cloudy sky and the gray pavement and the sparse grass on the balding earth appear as art. When you are hungry, when you are tired, when you have just vomited, or sustained an injury, then let us take our cameras in to see the tangled blades of grass and the panicking ants as they bear fruits for their fellow folk.

I don't believe in beauty, I believe in charity. I have conquered men with this and a smile -- CEOs, parking lot attendents, gas station employees -- all undone when I look at them for who they are and smile. That one cried. Must have been a bad day. Now, I am not a beautiful woman. I do not have red hair, I have red high-lights. I do not have green eyes, but brown eyes with green flecks. Sometimes not even that. I have a neat figure, but am 5'2". What people (lonely men for the most part) see is my near-beauty, how many scars do I have, they might ask. The biggest asshole engineer is the one who looks disappointed to see a gash my leg, as if his fantasy is thus destroyed, but my coterie of followers rejoice, it is damage, sure, but who remains undamaged and you still want to fuck them? The boy with CP, skinny, ridgid, is clearly not part of the boy scout troop and everyone is so nice. He is eyes wide to the effort of belonging. This being -- we all know him within ourselves -- or if we don't know him, we should be introduced.

I don't believe in the power of beauty. I believe in the power of damage. etc. etc. [ not done yet ]

Copyright Louise Robertson