My Body

Every growing little girl

has noticed changes in her body.

It’s normal to be disgusted.

It’s called being an adolescent.

Their bodies are often normal.

But mine, unfortunately not.

I used to look at my body with disgust.

It’s disturbingly deformed

obviously out-of-place

My 45 degree scoliosis,

in two regions on my spine,

jut outwards obtrusively.

My could-be womanly hips unproportioned.

My shoulder blades higher than each other,

The back pains I wake up to each morning.

The pain I receive from playing sports.

I’m bordering the need for surgery,

my self-esteem was dangerously low.

I waive my rights to swimsuits

I waive my rights to love my body.

But my biggest fear

wasn’t the worsening of my spine

or the constant back pains during my prime.

It’s the eyes.

The eyes of other people noticing,

Of silent judgement and staring.

Of pointed fingers and disgusted looks.

Of the normal life my ailment took.

My fear of being known,

of being outed as different,

terrified me beyond belief.

So I shied away from shoulderless shirts.

Presented a smile of confidence

But inside feeling self-conscious.

But a glimmering beacon of hope,

in a murky sea of self-doubt,

was writing my thoughts out in poetry

for my creative writing class.

The teacher’s lesson was how to “Bleed on Paper”

He showed countless examples of past poetry

James Tate, Eminem, Jay-Z.

All who poured their souls out

To create artistic masterpieces.

With slight skepticism

But a willingness to try

I took a fresh breath,

Stared at the empty word document

And began to write.

“Every growing little girl

has noticed changes in her body…”

A poem of truth

A poem from the heart

Opened my eyes

That lied in the dark.

My feelings pent up inside me

My frustrations and woes

Delved gracefully onto paper

Inking it with the blood from my heart.

The first poem was anger.

I cursed myself for slinging backpacks on one shoulder

For carrying heavy boxes without correct form

Or for lying on one side in bed all day

Despite current research claiming the causes of scoliosis are unknown.

The second poem was sadness.

Of what my condition prevented me.

I wept my tears out through words

Discussing all missed future opportunities

like bikinis, intense roller coasters, sports.

The third poem was acceptance.

With some light-hearted fun

I joked about the convenient excuses my ailment allows.

“Sorry, I can’t help you carry that.”

It’s a conversation starter; It’s a part of me.

After countless poems and stories,

I’ve come to terms with my body.

A morning back pain

Or a strained back in gym class

No longer puts me back

Into my initial mentality.

Weirdly enough,

writing whenever I feel sad or insecure

or when my self-esteem starts to drop,

brings back more confidence

And I start anew again.

I’ve overcome my fear.

I’ve come to love myself.

(And I’m going to a pool next Sunday).