The Book of Chaos: Wanting to be Beautiful

More than anything else in this world,
I just want to be good.
I want to “be” someone, you know?
I want to mean something
to someone and more than this,
I want to be beautiful.

I want to be pure
like a child when they see something new
or when a child plays or laughs or smiles,
innocently,
as if to have never been burned
by the edges of real life; or better,
I want to be pure in the sense
that I am me and as raw as I am
to the sight or to the touch,
or as imperfect as I may be,
I want to be beautiful
as if to be forever unmarred
or never marked and unmolested,
or removed from the version of sin or stigma
or judgment and so on.

I want to be good.
I want to be desirable
and in any place possible, I want to be seen
but not by all
no.
Just by one.

Sure . . .
I want to be beautiful.
But not to everyone
or not so much to the world, per se; but more,
I only want to be beautiful
to one person, as in “my person,”
and just like the sun is the only source of light,
and regardless of who looks up to notice
or not,
I want to be the same source to someone else.
I want to be that warm spot in their universe,
but not to everyone.

No, I want to be this way
for one person
and one person only.

And do you know what?
It wouldn’t matter what other people say
and it wouldn’t matter if I or she or we
are the perfect, matching pair
or seen as beautiful to anyone else
because, to me, nothing is as beautiful as this.

But –
this is a risk though
it’s a dare
or a challenge.

And while yes,
I understand the sun is around to please us all
or to shed warmth for the skin, and
I understand that no one has cornered the market
on the sunrise or the sunset
and I understand that
no one has the right to steal or claim or to own,
or to bottle this kind of beauty,
as if to be marketed
like a brand of something that is outsourced
or commercialized and sold at retail . . .
. . . I want to be true.
I want to be authentic
and allow myself to be me.
I want this and to be comfortable,
as in satisfied
that I do not have to appear as someone else
or anyone else
but more than anything, I only want this way
with one person
as in, “my person”
and so this way, I could be me
and by being who I am
I could shed warmth too
just like the sun,
eager to please her skin,
from now until the hour of my death,
(amen)

Now, I am thinking of the beach . . .

More than chaotic and more than the wild
or virtual insanities, and more than the fast-paced
or the crazy bouts we have in our “me-first” world;
I want to be the light in someone’s eye,
which allows me to be part of them, deeper than say,
a typical brand of intimacy;
and more than a reach from my hand
to wrap around her back,
or deeper than a look in the eye,
or moving beyond the physical appeal
and the softness of a deep kiss, and more,
I want this because
I have always wanted
to be more than “just” anything to someone
and to be this way to one person,
as in “my person,” and in the still of a sunset,
I want to feel the warmth of the sun
as its last breath before it sinks below the horizon
to say farewell.

I want to watch as the sun goes down
with her, my one,
lying beside me in a curled position;
the beach and the ocean is behind us,
and as the daylight begins to dim,
I swear there is nothing in the world
that can capture the depth
of how wonderful she is.

Or if my mind is allowed to dream,
then I would dream of her and her skin,
which has been tanned
from our day beneath the sun,
and as she looks at herself in the mirror
placing her earrings in her ears, I look in at her,
breathtaking, like a dream of seduction
and more than beautiful;
I look at her as she readies herself for the evening
and think man . . .

I never knew anyone could be this amazing.

More than anything, I want to walk
or stroll down the sidewalk with her beside me,
nighttime, and there’s a full moon above.
The moment is as hot as ever
because the warmth from the sun
has refused to subside, and the heat from the air
is more than something,
which has been caught by the warm winds.

No . . .
heat like this is magnetic.
Or perhaps this is cosmic.
Or maybe this is the universe
allowing for its intention to take place.
Or maybe this is fate and destiny
playing a game of dice with the stars,
and perhaps this is more than words can describe
because to me, or to her,
this is otherwise unmatchable
by any other circumstance.

No one can match this.
No one could ever fake or force
or duplicate this feeling
and certainly
no one could bottle this or encapsulate this
into some kind of tiny package,
to which anyone could find this in a store
or feel it, or experience this
in a way that I or she could feel it.

I want this.
I want this now more than ever.
But, I have to be honest.
I have to call out what stands in my way.

I want to be beautiful to one….
and only one.
I want to belong to her
and only her
and as I look at her beneath the night,
I am amazed.
I am blown away.
I am beyond compare and beyond anything else,
I am hers and only hers and somehow,
fate struck a deal with the stars
and the moon allowed itself
to coincide and suddenly,
all of my years and all of my past
or previous doubts
are free to cease and desist.

As it is, I have to share the world and the sun,
which means that I have to share the moon
and the stars, just as well,
and I have to share this with more than 7 billion people.
But not her.
No . . .
She is mine
and
I don’t want to share her with anyone.

I am selfish perhaps.
Or perhaps I am too much, or too needy,
or maybe I am too much of a dreamer
and too hopeful of some unrealistic thing
which only she could allow for,
which means
that I am at her tenderest mercy;
born for her, living for her,
hoping for more
and until the day or the hour of my death
(amen)
I am here to be claimed
and equally, I have come here to claim what is mine.

More than anything,
I have always wanted to be beautiful;
however, I have lost myself to the uglier concepts
of rage or resentment,
and regret or the riots of jealous thoughts
which take place in our minds
and hence, this is what leads me
to the ideas of envious thoughts to which,
as I lose myself to comparison,
no matter who I am or how hard I try,
I will never be beautiful enough, 
at least not like this.

I want to be good.
I want to be desired and to be felt
and touched and wanted
and connected in such a way
that fear and insecurity cannot ruin my thoughts
or derail my focus, nor would this inspire my doubts
that somehow, I was inept, or unwantable,
undesired, and the opposite of beautiful.

I want to look in the mirror and be so full of life
and rather than see the invisible scars
or hear the whispers from my inner-demons,
and the remnants of my former pain;
I want to find a life and a love and a ray of light
which is no different from the sun,
redeeming and fulfilling,
and when I see myself in the mirror;
I won’t just see me.

No, I will see me in every possible light.
I will see myself truthfully and fully,
and heartily, I will see love
(not hate)
and I will notice acceptance
(not rejection) and more,
I will see a connection that no one else in the world
can say they have,
or that they have felt
or shared.

I want my love to see me.
I want her to feel me,
I want to see her,
getting ready for a night out with me,
and as I look upon her,
I want to think about Eric Clapton and how he sang,
“Yes, my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

I want this more than I want the sun
to return tomorrow and
more than I want the moon to follow, I want this.
I want “her”
No, wait . . .
I want you!

Please have me . . .
I am far from perfect
and far from as brilliant as the sun
or as captivating as the moon.
But, what I am is yours
that is . . .
if you’ll have me,
my most beautiful dream.

God, I just want to be beautiful
(to her).