Mirror

My legs are like tree-trunks, and I like them that way.
My hair is obnoxious, but I’ll cope.
I like my eyes, deep blue like the sea, though they disappear when I laugh.
My hands are small and don’t fit into gloves, but they are soft when they are held with care.
My breasts are mutilated and disproportionately little, yet I like them nevertheless.
I am beautiful, of course, and I’m glad of my existence in this stout little body of mine.
I am who I am and I shall never change for anyone else in this world.
For, I am me and it is I who decides what I should look like and be.
I’m proud of myself for this epiphany of adoration and embrace of the self that I am.