It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself.
The words of Ralph Ellison ring in my ears as I gaze at myself
I look down at my stomach.
At my chest.
At my legs.
I lean around and gaze at my bottom.
Red marks dark and unsightly against my skin
Make rivets like angry veins
Sometimes I glide my fingers over them and wonder if this is my scarlet letter
Is this what defines me?
Or is it the parts that I didn’t ask for.
I gaze in the mirror and hold my stomach.
Feel my arms
And I smile
No one can rock this body like I can,
Because it’s mine.
I have all the wrong parts
Some are too big
And my voice isn’t as deep as it should be
As I want it to be
But its okay
Because I was born this way
And baby, I’m perfect.