Why does someone loving my body feel like a favour to me? 

Why does someone calling me beautiful feel as if they’re open minded. They’re progressive. 

Why is cherishing a normal healthy person for the hills and valleys of their vessel, something that feels like a gift. I feel like I have to make excuses for who I am to someone who is just visiting. Why do I only feel beautiful stretched out, straight up, an illusion of what my body is when it is comfortable. When the rolls of extra love kiss each other. When the curves of my thighs smile. So beautifully, each smile having dimples. Why does the movement of the tissue that incases me feel so wrong. That I squeeze moon shaped marks onto my middle. Trying to pull off what I view as my disfigurements. Because anything that can be squished is wrong, unless they’re in the right place. Unless I fit the cookie cutter mold of societies little doll. I don’t want to feel like I have to hate myself enough to change myself. Despise myself enough to starve myself. Get rid of half of me because whole of me isn’t enough. Or rather, it’s too much.I don’t want to reject the rise and fall of the body I reside in. I want to love myself as much as I deserve. I want to love my self as much, I want to love myself, I want to love 

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