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  • Writer's pictureRobyn Norrah

Poetry | Beautiful Things

Updated: Jun 4

The balance of beautiful things

Is riddled by our knowledge

Beyond what they are

To him, to her, to in between,

To you, to I, to them, to we.


We may find it

As a this way,

And a that,

Or a this,

OR a that.


But we know it's a something.

A sum 

Of things.

To some 

things.

Of which we subscribe to

Or don't.


And the balance of beautiful things

Has been determined by our ancestors,

The ones before 

The ones we are Now.

But to them, the balance was similarly determined.

They've been assigned, just as you and I.


Some as before, 

As some of us now,

Attempt to confuse 

The order of beautiful things.

As for some, the order doesn't benefit 

The understanding of their individualized beauty.

My vagina.

Their blackness.

His queerness.

Her transness.

Blue, brown, green

Eyes, nipples, other round things.


As it were, our ancestors,

Or “founding fathers,”

Found beauty

And ordered it 

According to themselves.


Ordering the states of things

To whiteness,

To maleness.


And it’s not that I’m angry

As in some sense I understand

This existence is chaotic

And scary

When you think about it.

The mind I possess,

'Singular' to 'me',

Is scary,

Is powerful,

If you dare

To think about it.


So we balance the beautiful things

So we can feel a sense of meaning

To this, is as such,

And That is another.


To feel identity,

Describe worth,

To Make 'something'

Same thing

Of this 'everything.'


And when discussing the beautiful things

It tends to be sided on what you are

As already, you’ve been decided for.

So whatever this is, is not really you.

And in trying to uncover what that may be

You find yourself in absolutely 'nothing'

For you were never not, or could be,

Whatever you think you may be or not be.


In fact, you’re only organized

You’re simply an organism...

"Right?"

A question is a thing.

A statement is, too.


And you may pick and choose

From the boxes–

The orderly states of things

You may say this is you

And that is not,

But as you sort through 

the sorted through 

Box

Of "orderly things,"

You have to remember that even as you describe you

You will always be described upon.

And while your new order feels right to you

Just as it is, to others it’s not.


So you can be you 




... but you will never quite be


or be

the you

you see.


Unless the order of things is taken into account

Of how you order your things.

So in essence, you must conform to the order

to even exist as a semblance

of you,

Or you must somehow impose your order

on the few.

Who hold an organization of similar orders

as you.


But in regard to beautiful things

You find there never was

And you will search for belonging

Only because

You so desperately want to be a 'beautiful thing'

At least in the eyes of one

And in sameness to your own

Because you already know

No beautiful thing is beautiful

Without an imposition of order

Beyond a shared definition.


(originally written 07.22.2022)

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