Ordinarily Comfortable

I wish my hands knew magic

The kind that twists coils into crowns

Lays edges with a whisper

Paints nails like tiny stained glass windows

Catching the sun

I wish my patience came in palettes

A steady hand sweeping shadows

A soft brush kissing my cheeks

Until the world thought I woke up like this

Glowing and gleaming

I wish my closet sang seasons

Spring silk, summer linen

Autumn suede, winter wool

A runway waiting on my footsteps

But truth be told

I reach for comfort over compliments

Soft cotton over curated looks

Blue jeans and a blouse

Authenticity over the woman

I sometimes daydream I could be

And maybe, just maybe

That is its own kind of beauty

The quiet kind, the tender kind

The kind that doesn’t need applause

To know it’s real