Devina has a blue birthmark which she believes was inflicted in a past life. She exists now through her words, whether they be stories, poetry, songs. Sometimes she wishes she could live up in the clouds.
By Devina Maurice, January 21, 2019
Read time: 1 Min
I have come to a profound realisation that my beauty is not my skin, it is my being.
I am fragments of star-matter, manipulated and compressed into the shape of a flawed entity. I am both too much and not enough, and have come to understand that this is not something for which I am to condemn myself.
I have more to give to this earth than the presence of my beauty and the absence of my faults. My brain and my soul are my worth.
The smoothness of my complexion, the softness of my hair, the curve of my waistline… these are physical, impermanent measures of my value.
I am more than my fulfilment of conventional beauty standards. I am more than my vanity, my insecurity. True beauty is so much more complex.
Perhaps it was about time I learnt to cherish the heart that flutters against my ribcage, the pulse that beats in my inner wrist, the mere and simple phenomenon of my existence.
I still wear makeup every now and then because I love spending time on myself, but it is no longer about trying to hide anything or because I feel ashamed.
I feel beautiful without makeup because I have found peace in the skin that shelters the loves, the fears, the desires, that flood my veins.
I have found home in the face that stares back at me in the mirror. And I have never been more content.