part i.
as the pounds dropped
as the rolls disappeared
as my jeans got looser
angry red stripes forced their way through my skin's surface.
it was almost like
they were hating me for the torture I was causing my body
as a single tear falls from my eye and onto to the scale that didn't change
a little voice whispers in my head:
airbrushed does not mean beautiful.
part ii.
as I watch the fiery stripes fade into ash
as I watch the soft silvery lightning bolts travel down my thighs
I think:
oh, great and mighty daughter of Thor!
birthmarks etched into your skin, softer than velvet
it's like a spark of electricity had glided its lips over your flesh
ever so tenderly
and as the thunder is rumbling in the distance
you are left unfazed,
for you are the hurricane.
part iii.
as I run my fingers over my tiger stripes
as I feel the little grooves they make in my skin
I whisper to myself with a smile:
"I have earned these."
