real life has wrinkles

here’s an idea:
let’s unload
the fashion magazines
from our guilt guns and
look for beauty in a
world where the only
airbrushing is the wind
in your hair,
the only ideal body—
yours, healthy—
the only makeup
needed the glow
of sunlight, moon,
as it softens the skin,
the only shame—
not loving the thrill
of living a life,
young to old,
wrinkles and all,
never mind those
magazines—they
wrinkle too,
after all,
in the landfill.

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