life tells us that we can only find true structure and creativity when we are at our worst.
we are taught to find beauty through shards of glass and tears.
as children age into adolescents the rays of sun and blooming backyard forest flora loses the beauty that once came to us so easily.
sadness is beauty.
pain is beauty.
being broken is beautiful.
you cannot be beautiful if you are not dying.
these ideas arrive with no warning; with vigor but no indication, as a storm arrives above a thunderous room.
you regress into pure sickening sadness where your humor is speaking of personal situations that should be unsaid, and you are peering into the mirror whilst sobbing so you will, for an infinitesimal moment, feel beautiful.
you see your elders and their contentedness with sunshine and the world's natural beauty and you wish you could feel this way soon, in time.