Did you look at the title and think
This is either going to be *****
Or deep and metophorical?
You may have even giggled when you read it.
These reactions are biproducts of society.

My parents shielded my eyes when
Anything even mildly ****** was on television.
It is part of life.
It is life.
And it is not gross or wrong
It is beautiful.

Here I am going to talk about a body in the essence.
My body.

WARNING: Content may be considered
Graphic, explicit or obscene
Because I am not a size two, or a six, or even an eight.
I am sizes twelve, fourteen, and sixteen.
And I am still beautiful.

Okay, let's start with the basics.
I stripped down in front of the mirror
And really looked at myself.
Every scar and every dent I have
From trying to pick or cut off my imperfections
Remains visible.

I ran my fingers over rough skin,
Remembering how I hoped to change my situation,
In the worst way.

I looked over at the scale,
But I dare not approach that monster.
It had me fixated on a number,
Not a person.
Not me.

I do have stretch marks along my stomach,
Red and purple and white.
From weight fluctuation
Due to a number of factors,
My eating disorder being one of many.

I have swollen glands in my throat
From the intentional vomiting.
But I have not done that
In nearly three weeks.
And I plan to keep that up for much longer.

The rise of my *******,
The dip in my waist
The curve of my hips
The build in my legs

Maybe it is not desirable to you
But I am a woman,
Not a stick.
And not your plaything.

The best feeling in the world
Comes when you look at yourself
And you conclude
That while healthier is an option
You are a piece of art.

So yes,
I am working on getting stronger,
But I really do not want to be a straight line.
I am a proud woman,
Proud of who I have and will become,
All nearly two hundred pounds of me.