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| Photo by Paolo Raeli |
my mother never told me
that the person who would tear me down
would be myself
yet there I was
young and impressionable
I was no warm sunset
but skin
as I gazed upon my thighs with disgust
picked and prodded at my stomach
my spirit shrank
self-loathing slogans were my bedtime stories
and the endings always left my sullen cheeks
stained with tears
I was not radiant or capable or intelligent
but skin
when one of my friends told me that I was not beautiful
I almost believed her
my first act of self-love was leaving her
as she scrutinized the size of my waist
I told her, "I'm sorry, but I am more than just
skin."
do not tell me that I take up too much space
do not tell me that I am ugly
do not tell me that I will never please a man
when I was younger
I regarded my body
what allows me
to create
to learn
to love
with hatred
now, as I look at my body
the question is no longer
how can I become thinner
but
how could I have ever seen myself as simply
skin
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