No body’s Perfect

Because I was always bigger than all my friends.

In every picture we took together I stood out and above them all.

Because I wasn’t allowed to wear a two-piece bathing suit,

and I was sure it was because I didn’t look skinny enough.

Flashes of every beach vacation ending in tears and frustration plague my mind.

Because I lied to myself about myself. No one will want me unless my body is microscopic.

I was convinced something was wrong with me and that everyone else knew it too.

Because I forgot how perfectly I was designed in my mother’s womb.

Because I wanted to be paper thin like all the girls I saw on tv and Instagram.

Because so what if I hurt myself and those around me if it got me thinner.

Cue the concerned gazes of my little brother during family dinner.

Because I could handle it and I was in control.

That’s a lie, because I started to enjoy the feeling of hunger.

The pain that was once unbearable was now a reward.

Cool water gliding down into an empty stomach became my favorite sensation.

Because my joy was being taken away with every cardio work-out I forced myself to do.

The night before my 16th birthday was spent doing jumping jacks on a broken foot.

Because fainting became a game to me, and I was beating my high score.

Because even strangers complimented what they thought was hard work,

when in reality they were congratulating me for starving.

Because my mind was swarmed with figuring out how sneaky I could be,

how long I could not swallow and how many ribs you could see.

Because enough was never enough. Too little never came, too small was non-existent,

and suddenly I couldn’t picture my life without being hungry.

And then, one day,

my secret was no longer a secret, and my family was worried about me.

It became because I was tired of hating myself.

Because my body is simply the shell I am inside of.

When I think about the people I adore, their size doesn’t even cross my mind.

Because my body is the least interesting thing about me.

Because I started therapy and there are people who know what I go through.

Because I owe it to five-year-old me to be the girl I was before I cared about calories.

It’s liberating eating what you’re hungry for instead of what you feel worthy of.

Because true beauty is realness and even famous artworks have imperfections.

Because Hannah Montana said nobody’s perfect.

Because Christmas lights and stars both shine beautifully,

but there’s no need to compare them.

Because food keeps us alive and tastes delicious.

It’s still scary sometimes, but that’s okay.

Because I won’t stop trying to unlearn all the evil habits I adopted.

It turns out no one cares about your BMI.

And because it’s exhausting being at war with yourself.