I wish that I didn’t have to tell you how beautiful your body is.
I wish that the world would shout about the beauty in the map of your skin.
The freckles, stretch marks, bumps and scars
What an intricate intimate portrait of who and what you are.
Why must we think this is trash,
These beautiful supple cathedrals that we live and love in?
Why are we told over and over by a money hungry media,
That we are worthless,
That the skin our mothers brought us into this broken world in is not good enough?
Why do we believe them?
Why do we let them into our heads
Making us believe that we would be better off dead than their definition of ugly?
Why do we accept that the inhuman mold they showed us is reality,
And that somehow this temple is the nightmare?
There is no answer.
But we eat their slop like pigs being fattened for slaughter;
We pluck, pull, cut, burn, poison, decimate our bodies
All the while screaming out into the abyss.
AM I GOOD ENOUGH NOW!
But the only answer we receive is the echo of our broken voices back at us.
This madness has become the norm.
And somehow the notion that we are perfectly acceptable in our own skin is revolution?
Let’s declare peace with our battered bodies to begin to heal our broken souls,
Because we are worth more than the price tag they put on our self hate.
Let’s turn the war onto the people that would have us believe that we are nothing,
Because we deserve happiness no matter what body we live in.