I hold my shame in the folds of my stomach
as I poke and pinch
and pinch and poke
seeing what I need to fix

I hold my shame in the lines of my stretch marks
as I push and rub
pretending or hoping its just imprints from my jeans

I hold my shame in my scars
as I count and count
they seem innumerous

but it shouldn’t be this way

I should hold my pride in the folds of my stomach
as it tells you that i’m okay

I should hold my pride in the lines of my stretch marks
it tells the story of how my body fought to
keep my emotional mess in

I should hold my pride in my scars
as they are trophies of the times my body has won the battle
against pain, clumsiness, and everything in between

because all I really mean is that my pride is in how I look
not in what you tell me I should change