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."