Anything can be beautiful. Looking around I see the broken old car sputtering down the beaten road. The cracked windows and dusty doors leading to messy houses and disorderly lives. These people are happy where they are. That is beautiful.

But I wonder can everything really be beautiful? Some things can never cover up the empty feeling inside. The wide stairway, winding hallways, and big huge house sprawling into a maze. A now vast empty labyrinth of wealth were unhappiness and deep dissatisfaction lies right beneath the surface. That isn’t beautiful. I don’t care what you say. The ornate railings and elaborately decorated walls with high reaching windows looking to the heavens. The windows might reach the sky, but the lavish lives are empty; unhappy and ugly. The people living here have a house built on greed.

Is money beautiful? It can build up great cities that will only fall to ruin. It can be exchanged for weapons or destruction. The glitz and glamore it brings isn’t beautiful. It’s only so dazzling the deep void that comes with is blocked from view.

People are beautiful. Special or unique. It matters not what one looks like. Things are beautiful. Toys, cars, seats, or houses. A deep array of colors, anything with shape or without, something under the sun. Nature is beautiful. The spectrum of colors in God’s workmanship.

But beauty isn’t always good. What is it? Why do cultures and people have a narrow idea of beauty? Is it hard to be pretty? Is it wrong. It good or bad? No. Being beautiful is easy as saying few words. I am beautiful.

"No, you aren't," whispers a voice in my head.