I was born tiny, petite
I was shorter than my classmates
Thinner than my friends
I could count the ribs beneath my skin
Fingers tapping tunes like a skeletal piano
And as I got older
I was taught to hate this body
Told that “small” meant “weak”
So I grew
Hoping for a day when I would stop hating this body
When I was fifteen
I saw the difference between myself and the other girls
I had that “hourglass” figure
But my shoulders were too broad with arms too big
I had a waist that wasn’t thin enough
There was no gap between my thighs
And my belly jiggled when I danced
So I carved silver into my skin so I could be stained red with pain
Because I hated this body
Sometimes I still do
Because when I look into the mirror
All I see are rolls and cellulose
Big arms and stretch marks
I hide under high-waisted shorts and false confidence
When I look at the women around me
And see that I’m not them
I covet their beauty
And hate myself
I envy their ability to fill the cookie cutter definition
That I was taught to be the only meaning of the word
Then I hated them for being more beautiful than me
Not realizing that my jealousy was what was making me truly ugly
Not my body
But my heart
Because I was taught to hate this body
Taught that it will never be good enough
Made to think that there is only one definition of the word beauty
And that I could never fulfill it
I don’t want that anymore
This body-
My body was made to move
It was made to be celebrated
It is a temple, a place of worship
It holds a mind and soul worthy of love
It is a work of art
And so what if it doesn’t appeal to everyone
Because you know something
Sometimes I don’t like it very much either
But that’s okay
Because my body isn’t perfect
It is flawed
And I am and always will be my greatest critic
But I will no longer let that stop me
This body has carried me well for all these years
And I won’t let anyone silence the songs of praise I sing to it
Not even myself