My eyes are beautiful because they tell the truth. Of where others live inside me. Of where my feelings are at every moment. My eyes are disarmingly deep oceans of warmth, joy, melancholy, love and the darkest coldest storms. It does not matter what color they are. Or whether they are big or small. Or whether they are surrounded by loose bags of skins or wrinkles.

My hands are gorgeous because they are intelligent. Because they communicate and listen. It does not matter if they are thick or thin; fresh and young or old and wrinkled. These hands, like my eyes, can hold with grace and strength; with vulnerability and kindness.

I am beautiful because I am me. And others are more aware of their beauty for knowing me. And it does not matter if they are young or old. Slender or large. Dark or light. Male or female or non-binary. For once I hone in on their light, they will, if they choose to, see their beauty reflected within me.

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