Objectively, aren't certain things quite beautiful? Aren't there things that, on the main, most of us can quite readily agree rest easy on the eyes? quicken the pulse? make one grasp for lyric and rhyme? isn't that the purpose of Top 10 lists and pageants and smooth fame? to agree to set standards to give oneself a moment of discernment where tender facts bathe in the golden hour of knowing, what is beautiful? But what perfect impulse slows the car along the pitted highway stops where the concave body drags herself along, merged with ditch dust lost in her thoughts garments sagging a worn sole flapping; one sees it -- quite clearly reaches for it -- there's no lack recognition as it sparkles in slices of sunlight broken and scattered by the trees.
There seems to be a good deal of “official” conversation about humans in the U.S. — namely a lot of talk and muscling by officials who think they have some say about who or what is the “right” kind of human.
There is no need to define that or set guardrails — the heart can spot a beautiful human with little to no effort.
Children (and dogs!) do it all the time.
You're a beautiful human, and this is a beautiful poem <3 .