DAILY SPARK 🌞

Imperfect or Unhuman? Your Choice

Photo by Alexander Aguero on Unsplash

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I hate skin with no wrinkle, strain, hair, or smell — Everything with no signs of normality.

Give me the rough palms of labor, cracked but tender. Give me stretch marks like lightning strikes, marking the landscape of change.

Let me smell sweat and sleep and last night’s cheap wine, not sterile nothingness. Let me taste burnt toast and morning breath, not some polished, flavorless death. Let me feel calluses and sunburned skin, not some plastic shell I’ll never fit in.

Who wants a body that’s never ached, scarred, or sagged? A face that’s never frowned hard enough to leave its mark? Teeth not slightly crooked, hips not carrying the weight of years, laugh lines not earned like fucking trophies?

Perfection is a lie, a soulless mannequin in a world of heat and hunger. I want greasy hair, bitten nails, crooked noses, and mismatched socks. I want humanity — raw, flawed, and gloriously alive.

Anything else is just plastic wrapped around a void.

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