I’ve put you through a lot, and I want to apologize for that. Thank you for sticking by me even when I said I hated you. Thank you for doing your best to heal me when I cut you and starved you. Thank you for not giving out on me all those afternoons I spent hunched over the toilet. Thank you for keeping me alive even though I did everything to destroy you.
I love your hands. Not only are they beautiful and delicate, but they are skilled at typing, and help me get stories and poems out of my head as quickly as I think of them. That’s no easy task. I know sometimes your hands shake with anxiety, but that’s okay. You have choir girl lungs to help you take a deep breath and calm down.
I’m grateful for your legs, and I’m sorry for covering them with scars. I’ll do my best not to let it happen again. I love how they’re strong enough to help me ride a bike across campus and stand tall during choir practice. You have my mom’s legs, which are as beautiful as they are powerful. Thanks for helping me take walks through the woods at the Creek, and through my neighborhood with my dogs. Thanks for helping me stand during long periods of time at work, and making it easy to pass the swim test at Eckerd, and for looking great in almost any pair of jeans. Thanks for getting me where I need to go.
Body, you have a beautiful face, and I love how your eyes crinkle up when I smile genuinely. Even your big Jewish nose is beautiful. It fits your face.
Your tummy us cute. You were not meant to have a flat stomach, but that’s okay because your tummy holds so many healthy organs, which keep me feeling good. And you also look cute in a bathing suit, even your little pink polka-dot bikini. I promise to take you to the beach this summer and get sand all over your beautiful curves, and enjoy a real lunch–not just just the diet energy drinks that make you feel sick and wired. Sorry about how I subjected you to not one, but two unsuccessful bellybutton piercings, but I appreciate the little purple scar you bear. I think it’s kind of cute.
I love your strong arms and how they have the faintest hint of a bicep from pulling my weight forward on the swing set. I promise not to call you fat anymore. I love how your arms let me hold my baby cousin, carry lots of groceries to people’s cars, and open doors for people who can’t do it themselves. Thanks for helping me steer blind customers’ carts through the store without them bumping into things.
Thanks for having a cute butt that doesn’t hurt to sit on anymore. Thanks for looking good in your clothes that finally fit you properly. Thanks for your curves and all the soft parts of you. Thanks for always being there for me. I look forward to many more adventures to come.