I count them, 

five on the left side and six on the right

like wilting butterflies, they spread their wings over my upper thighs

curl against my skin and whisper that I'm growing, changing by the minute

my bones are stretching, legs blooming and shrinking

body accepting every last fragment of itself as it builds up, saves up.

I used to count them

and think about getting a sewing kit. I drove all the way to the store once,

because I thought about sewing the little white lines so they weren't visible anymore

I wanted to put my skin back where it started

tighten it up, fold it over itself to mask any signs of change at all

I used to count them

and think each line meant another pound to lose

I used to count them

and think each line meant another thousand calories to push away

And now,

I count them,

five lines on the left and six on the right,

and think each line is another thing I love about myself

because it's me, and I'm changing,

and everything is blooming.