how does it feel
to gaze upon a mirror and
then declare that you are not disgusted
with what you see—
your flat chest that amplifies
your heartbeats— lub dub, lub dub.
your short stature ready to be encased
in arms that would be afraid to even think
of you walking away.
your crooked teeth that would be perfect
to bite the belly of the beast.
or your short hair that your past lovers
had disapproved of,
saying that you look better with your hair longer.
it is unbearable to not be
a conventional type of symmetry,
to have jagged edges
deemed to be no longer worth saving.
how does it feel to gaze upon a mirror
and finally decide that
you have a body worth embracing.
how does it feel to be so devoted,
so in love with your own temple
that you kiss it at every given opportunity?

—12:50AM