“Maybe if my legs were slim,
and my lips rose-pink,
and my hair like silk,
and my hands white petals,
you would love me more.
Maybe if I could sing,
and dance,
and capture people with my
star-like smile,
you would look at me more closely.
Maybe if my grades
never saw an 89,
you would smile,
and clap,
and tell me wonderful things.
Maybe if I spoke with
a silver tongue and
could convince with my
bright, 20/20 vision eyes,
you would hug me tighter.
Maybe if…”
Child, maybe, maybe, maybe.
But, really,
even if your legs were elephants,
your lips blue,
your hair seaweed,
and your hands sandpaper,
I would still love you.
Even if your voice
sounded like frogs at night,
and your feet
stepped all over mine,
and your mouth
was cut up from all of that fixing metal,
I would still love you.
Even if your grades
never saw an 89,
I would still love you
and tell you all sorts of wonderful things.
Even if your tongue was bound by chains,
and you tripped and stumbled over your vowels,
I would still love you.
Child, to them your legs may not be slim,
your lips may not be the shade of roses,
your hair may not be silk,
and all of those silly, fickle, worldly things, but
to me,
you are beautiful.
So beautiful.
I breathed out the stars for you.
I created for you.
I shed for you.
I bled for you.
I died for you.
Why
do you still doubt?
Why
do you still fear?
Why
do you still look at yourself
in a way
that makes you question what I have made?
Child, look at me.
Look.
at.
Me.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.