Then :

Stigmas shredding this rough frame
Strips of blood
boiling, wanting to explode
I feel their anger
I hear their shrieks, their war cries
I don't listen.
These monsters and me
are at war.
                                                            ­                                                  Now :
                                                               ­    Soft pink caressing this canvas
                                                          ­                                          Calm rivers
                                                                ­             nurturing, bring it to life
                                                            ­                                I feel their peace
                                                           ­  I hear their hummings, their odes
                                                            ­                               I sing with them 
                                                           ­                 my stretch marks and me
                                                                ­                                           are one.

There are rivers everywhere
many are just out of sight.
    The ground is told to be ashamed
    for the home it gives these rivers.
          Because of that
          the ground tries to hide it’s rivers.
              The ground covers its imperfections
              with anything it can.
          It covers these rivers not because they aren’t beautiful
          but because they have ravaged clean canvas.
                        If you look closely at the soil
                        you will see hundreds of these little streams.
                              They are deep in some places
                              but shallow in others.
                                   Their color can be that of blood
                                   or the color of scars not quite healed.
                                           These rivers are not just at the surface
                                           for they come from the depths of the soil.
                                                   Taking years to fully carve their place
                                                   and take a lasting toll on the ground.

                                            I am my own piece of ground
                                            with rivers flowing freely.
                                    They cover my body
                                    engrained in so many parts of me.
                         These rivers show me where I’ve been
                         and where I will go.

                My rivers have faded
                from scarlet to peach.
         My rivers are permanent
         and I struggle to find their beauty.
My rivers are seen as ugly
so I try to hide them.
         My rivers are not talked about
         because I am told they are shameful.
                 My rivers stretch across my body
                 and carve at its banks daily.
                          I have tried to dam the waters from flowing
                          but new paths just keeping appearing.
                                   Yet, through it all I have learned from my rivers
                                    that beauty comes in all forms.

My rivers are beauty
in its purest form.

Beauty, why do you evade her?
Why will you not let her grasp you?
She searches for you daily.
Meals become foreign during her quest.

Why will you not let her grasp you?
She searches the mirror but only sees a mistake.
Meals become foreign during her quest.
The map on her body is not a treasure map to her.

She searches the mirror but only sees a mistake.
Numbers are more than a math problem to her.
The map on her body is not a treasure map to her.
Beauty, why must you hide from her?

Numbers are more than a math problem to her.
Her best friend is the floor of her shower.
Beauty, why must you hide from her?
Why will you not show her you were always there?

Her best friend is the floor of her shower.
The water washes all the broken parts away.
Why will you not show her you were always there?
She doesn’t need water to fix what’s never been broken.

Strækmærker kravler hen over hendes nøgne krop
som tigerstriber
Slynger sig vildt om hendes bryst,
hendes mave,
hendes lår,
og alle de andre dele af hendes krop
som *** hader