every other human i’ve laid eyes on has been beautiful.
every other bed has been made,
every blanket folded smoothly, every cup filled spilling over with, familiar, tea my grandmother grew, every utensil put away neatly. every grown person has once been a child.
you think you’re grown huh?

every child has been crafted, effortlessly by his hands.
yet, every other neck had only been kissed ever so gently by the sun,
unburned by the rays that curse one with strength and resilience.
every head has been gracefully placed between perfectly smaller shoulder blades, held up by a noticeably frailer frame.
every other head grew good hair,
long,
windswept,
unbumped,
good hair,
good hair.
you got a lot of hair on your head.

every pair of eyes has stared at me, stared at the parts i know i have.
every other woman has been one.
every other woman has been beautiful.
every other body has loved.
every other soul has been tethered to its figure, not once removed without its consent.
every other person has their place on this Earth, 
holding a presence,
a location to call their own, with a body to be claimed as hers.