A bunch of views from St. Ives

Theres a bunch of muses, my naked beloved, the flock of birds inspired in the song "O" of Coldplay and the last one, the ocean, inspired in a poetic prose I read today, unknown author:

 

Don't tell me I'm beautiful. I have already heard the word rubbed raw across the flesh of so many girls before me. Thrown at them like rocks that beat the skin of those we don't understand. "You're beautiful" we yell with such concept. "God dammit, why won't you just believe me, you're beautiful". It's not a compliment. It's a victory march of your own self sacrifice. "You're beutiful", we say through gritted teeth. "You're beautiful", we spit out through tears, looking at a reflection we hate. "You're beautiful", we say, holding a body that has never felt the arms of another. "You're beautiful". Don' tell me I am beautiful. A word like that floats on the surface, give somethig with depth. Tell me I am intelligent. Tell me I am courageous. Tell me that when I laugh the whole world smiles. Tell me that my voice is sweeter than strawberries. Remind me that my hands have helped flowers grow, paited the ocean, captured the sky on my phone. Assure me that with a mind like mine, I can change the world. Don't tell me I am beautiful. I don't really care if it's true. I've spend years trying to convince myself beuty goes through and through. Don't tell me I am beautiful. I've felt the world splatter against me enough of a lifetime. I am better than the beautiful that slips from your lips. I am the ocean. 36.000 feet deep. There are parts of me you've ever seen. I'm outer space, infinite in your search. I am not simply beautiful. 

I am a fucking masterpiece