BEAUTIFUL

This is my body,
all the areas that feel so soft under your caress
that connect to something magical inside of me when touched
the hairs that stand on end when you whisper in my earlobe,
the freckles that get darker under the warm summer sun
and fade away during the harshness of winter
skin that cries out for moisture,
that tries to hide all the bones and blood within,
but some of the veins in my hands and wrists insist on being seen anyway.

This is my body
that is a colorful canvas,
with its pink undertones on cream flesh, flecks of brown, blue veins, blue eyes,
hair that’s mostly a deep brown, with a persistent red that pushes through
and now, several coarse grey hairs that insist on making their mark
right on top, yelling that youth is leaving, and perhaps wisdom is coming.

This is my body
with its hard elbows and dry, cracking feet
that never seem to smell quite as wonderful as you’d like
but have gotten me to the tops of peaks to look down at beautiful vistas
or hurried me along, and away from danger’s hands
they aren’t ticklish, they aren’t small and dainty, they are strong and sturdy feet.

This is my body
with parts that feel weak and parts that feel strong
parts that are alive with passion and parts that are tired
with lines and scars and stretch marks and occasional pimples,
confused whether its face is still a teenager or a middle aged woman.

This is my body
with eyebrows that are rarely plucked
lips that are almost daily covered in some color or shimmer
eyes that want to see but need help so my vision is not blurred
ears that connect to hips that move to beats that change the pace of my heart.

This is my body
that has been shared and taken and slapped and beaten and choked
and torn and bruised and stretched and bitten
it has seen and experienced humans at their worst,
has been cold and hungry and fatigued and housed a person who felt like quitting
but has kept on going and going and going.

This is my body
it has worked through all kinds of pain but has seen so much joy
some of those scars and stretch marks came when this body carried two beautiful babies within its womb,
nursed them at its breasts one year each
and has held and nurtured and comforted and calmed children in its loving arms.

This is my body
perfect in its imperfections, strong in its weakness,
lovely in its contradictions,
capable of storing a lifetime of memories in each of its cells,
pulsating and sweating and screaming at times,
but always – BEAUTIFUL!

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