Love Yourself.

My skin tries crawling off my body when I’m not looking. 
I barely catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye as it escapes. 
Where is it going,
I wonder? 
Maybe,
It’s off to find someone who treats it better. 
Someone who doesn’t cut lines into it with knives like it’s an art project instead of a home.
Someone who doesn’t wish it was smaller. 
It’s about time I treat my skin like the safety blanket it’s always been for me, 
Wrapping around my bones and keeping me whole. 
It’s about time I stopped trying to destroy the only home I’ve ever lived in.
I’m learning to love my body even when everyone else is telling me I shouldn’t. 
But, it’s difficult to love something I’ve been taught to hate. 
Something I’ve been taught to shrink and pick apart, 
Something I’ve been taught is a sin just for existing, 
Something that is apparently unacceptable if it’s over a size 2. 
But, stretch marks are not the Devil’s doing. 
It’s okay to have them trace around your thighs and up your belly. 
And your belly is allowed to exist. 
It doesn’t have to be tiny to be beautiful. 
It doesn’t have to be flat to be loved. 
You’ve spent so long trying to find a way to make yourself into something that can be wanted, 
Something that can be longed for a drooled over, 
And you want to wear crops tops and bikinis and short shorts without feeling shameful. 
I’m so sorry we’ve been told we have to be small in order to be beautiful.