Thanks my body.
Tuesday, 17 November 2015
I am almost 17 and I feel sexy in my skin.
I like the way my thick thighs glide into strong calfs.
I like the way my tired eyes look,
all dark underneath but glowing all the same,
because I know it means I spent my night talking to you.
My hair is wicked messy after dancing around the kitchen,
your fingers wrapping themselves,
in my hair agonizingly slow.
And I’m okay with the mess.
I love the mess.
I think my body is gorgeous
and nobody can tell me otherwise.
My scars and my bumps remind me of
how many experiences and hands
have graced my presence and every one was special.
I don’t regret my life and I don’t regret my battle wounds.
I adorn them proudly.
I feel beautiful.
I’m grateful for this intricate anatomy that contains my soul,
and it is indeed my temple.
Thank you,
body.
For everything.
I like the way my thick thighs glide into strong calfs.
I like the way my tired eyes look,
all dark underneath but glowing all the same,
because I know it means I spent my night talking to you.
My hair is wicked messy after dancing around the kitchen,
your fingers wrapping themselves,
in my hair agonizingly slow.
And I’m okay with the mess.
I love the mess.
I think my body is gorgeous
and nobody can tell me otherwise.
My scars and my bumps remind me of
how many experiences and hands
have graced my presence and every one was special.
I don’t regret my life and I don’t regret my battle wounds.
I adorn them proudly.
I feel beautiful.
I’m grateful for this intricate anatomy that contains my soul,
and it is indeed my temple.
Thank you,
body.
For everything.