The balance of beautiful things
Is riddled by our knowledge
Beyond what they are
To him, to her, to in between,
To you, to I, to them, to we.
We may find it
As a this way,
And a that,
Or a this,
OR a that.
But we know it's a something.
A sum
Of things.
To some
things.
Of which we subscribe to
Or don't.
And the balance of beautiful things
Has been determined by our ancestors,
The ones before
The ones we are Now.
But to them, the balance was similarly determined.
They've been assigned, just as you and I.
Some as before,
As some of us now,
Attempt to confuse
The order of beautiful things.
As for some, the order doesn't benefit
The understanding of their individualized beauty.
My vagina.
Their blackness.
His queerness.
Her transness.
Blue, brown, green
Eyes, nipples, other round things.
As it were, our ancestors,
Or “founding fathers,”
Found beauty
And ordered it
According to themselves.
Ordering the states of things
To whiteness,
To maleness.
And it’s not that I’m angry
As in some sense I understand
This existence is chaotic
And scary
When you think about it.
The mind I possess,
'Singular' to 'me',
Is scary,
Is powerful,
If you dare
To think about it.
So we balance the beautiful things
So we can feel a sense of meaning
To this, is as such,
And That is another.
To feel identity,
Describe worth,
To Make 'something'
Same thing
Of this 'everything.'
And when discussing the beautiful things
It tends to be sided on what you are
As already, you’ve been decided for.
So whatever this is, is not really you.
And in trying to uncover what that may be
You find yourself in absolutely 'nothing'
For you were never not, or could be,
Whatever you think you may be or not be.
In fact, you’re only organized
You’re simply an organism...
"Right?"
A question is a thing.
A statement is, too.
And you may pick and choose
From the boxes–
The orderly states of things
You may say this is you
And that is not,
But as you sort through
the sorted through
Box
Of "orderly things,"
You have to remember that even as you describe you
You will always be described upon.
And while your new order feels right to you
Just as it is, to others it’s not.
So you can be you
... but you will never quite be
or be
the you
you see.
Unless the order of things is taken into account
Of how you order your things.
So in essence, you must conform to the order
to even exist as a semblance
of you,
Or you must somehow impose your order
on the few.
Who hold an organization of similar orders
as you.
But in regard to beautiful things
You find there never was
And you will search for belonging
Only because
You so desperately want to be a 'beautiful thing'
At least in the eyes of one
And in sameness to your own
Because you already know
No beautiful thing is beautiful
Without an imposition of order
Beyond a shared definition.
(originally written 07.22.2022)
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