My breast swelled
As if filling with helium
And taking off
Into the sky.
They were anchored
Into my chest and instead
Left stretch marks
Reminding me
Of their attempted escape.

I look at the marks
As mistakes, imperfections
But you look at me
As if I am beautiful.

You play connect the dots
With my birthmarks,
My freckles,
Joining my twinkle toes
To my earlobes
And I question
Why I was made the way I am
While you label me
Beautiful.

Maybe I was made
For you.