I stare into the half length,
double wide vanity that sits
poised in my two bathroom home.

It's reflection of me, naked and
unrefined, are often and unmistakingly
disappointing. But, no longer.

I will embrace my scars of battle. I
will soak in the curves and crevices
of the weight I carry with me.

Counting carbs and chasing carrots
with salad day after day were never
really even my style.

Health. Happiness. Heart. Those
are what matter. Cliche, yes. But true:
A number on a scale is nothing.

I clutch my sides and embrace the
mountains that ridge and peak
laterally on my canvas.

I embrace my full bust and curvy
thighs with earnest demeanor. I
am an image of me. Nearly 20.

No longer will I hold my head low
at a passing glance. I refuse to hide
in clothes too large to disguise my shape.

Beauty is who you are. It's not what
you look like according to the golden
ratios or whatever the hell "they" say.

Today, I'm going to try.
Try and renew a broken bond
between heart, mind and the
belief I have in myself.

Some days, I have so much
to offer the world: care, love,
compassion, hope and joy.
Other days, I sink into my
blankets & sheets, praying for
some sweet release.

My heart feels like it's clutched
between loathing and defeat, but
light keeps pouring through. It
desperately pleads for unclenching
to offer more of what I have inside me.

Feeling hopeless, lost and alone...
these feelings, I don't desire. I feel
like my lungs are filled with smoke:
elusive and toxic...but inescapably
dooming. But I seek the wind. The
clear, fresh breakage from the dark.

I seek hope and promise. I seek self
love and not shame. For the skin I'm in
is entirely my own. And I should be
happy for it and for me...because no
shallow appearance change will make
me a better person. Only drive, goal reaching and love will heal what I pray for.

It's been far too long since
I picked up a hymnal, or
endulged in the physical
flesh and blood of God.

I pray for peace: among
others: friend or foe and for
me. So that I can be ok with
myself and sleep soundly.

Why am I so afraid to go back
into a place that gave me solice
in times where I needed it most?
Distance. Laziness. Excuses. All
signs that point me in the opposite
direction of where I need to be...

But if I know this and I know how
to solve it, why don't I? Why don't
I reconnect with faith? Why don't I
motivate myself to do it.

I don't really know.

It's easy for tear drops
to fall past midnight.
It's even easier to let the
raw emotions of day seep
into the darkness of night.

I don't mean to be so sensitive
or to pretend that these things
don't matter to me...but they do.

The little things, they say.
They're what **** the beast.

There are many ways to break
a person down: whether persistence,
verbal or physical brutalizations.

The worst type, by far, is the quick
lash of the tounge. "That makes you
look frumpy..." Or "You've really gained some weight." Things she
categorizes and compartmentalizations
into foreign areas of the mind.

Weight is a shallow, low blow, she thought. However, the words slice
harsher than any insult she's ever heard. ******. Ugly *****. Lonely big girl. That's the garbage thrown to her.

What she needs is reassurance. Affirmations--pretty and pathetic--
that she should be comfortable in her
own flesh. The very body she breathes in and carries is the one to be loved.

Size 2 or 22, pants and dresses don't immortalize the true beauty of being. They don't capture the heart and soul. But most important of all, they have no ******* impact on the radiance one emits.

There's nothing more luxurious
than tossing and turning with conversation between my head
and the pillow it rests on.

Sleep is a desperate cry away,
between the anxieties of the night
and causal analysis of the last
thirteen hours of existence.

I'm addicted.
Hot. Rushing. Yearning.
Every weekend is my fix.
Monday through Friday
are a mere blur.
Days & nights I
pray for, are the ones
I spend in your company.