My body is an imperfect temple.

You heard me. My body is a temple and so is yours. And so is that person who you claim to hate's, and the guy who cut you off in traffic this morning. Our bodies are our temples, they are our homes. But no temple is perfect. We are given one body in this life, it is time we start loving them for that very reason.

These bags under my eyes are not ugly, they are not disgusting. These dark circles are a sign of my dedication. My love for my education. These dark circles are a sign that I am not afraid to give as much as I possibly can. These dark circles are a sign of love for something other than myself. Plus, everyone has them. They are inherently human.

These legs are not perfectly slim, but they can carry me to the future. They are strong, they are stable. They are the support that I give myself and the support I can lend to my friends. These legs are how I lift others up, they are steady and strong.

These lips are not Kylie Jenner plump. These lips are not perfectly cherry red. These lips are not perfectly full of collagen. However, these lips hold my smile, they hold my joy. These lips are the avenue for my voice, they hide my tongue when need be and they help me shout when necessary. These lips are my way of expressing admiration or making someone else smile. My lips are my way of showering someone with love and praise.

These arms are not toned, they jiggle a little too much when I wave. But these arms are how I embrace my loved ones. These arms are a sanctuary for the weak. These arms wrap my friend in a warm embrace and take the pelting of their tears. These arms are comfort for those whose lives have been shattered or the one whose world is crumbling down.

This hair doesn't look like a model on the runway. These curls aren't anything like a mermaid's (mermaids don't have frizz). But, this hair keeps me warm in the winter. It catches the wind and blows with the screams of rollercoasters. It blows with the sense of victory from the tops of mountains.

This chest isn't voluptuous. This chest isn't even, well, even. A push-up bra seems to be the only "cure." But I don't need a cure. Behind this chest hides constant life. My heart beats blood through my body. My heart races. My blood boils. My lungs give my body the oxygen it needs to keep me alive. My lungs live ever so persistently behind my chest. All of my vital organs work, even if I don't look like a Victoria's Secret model. But then again, they don't either.

This stomach isn't flat. There are rolls and lines and stretch marks where I would rather there not be. But this stomach doesn't need to be flat to carry the sound of my laughter across a room. This stomach carries anxieties and it digests the fuel for my body. This stomach can still feel butterflies. This stomach, though not perfectly flat, is perfectly mine.

We spend most of our time tearing down our bodies and focusing on things we "need" to change. Media has told us that we are useless if we do not match up. But, our bodies aren't all meant to be model beautiful. No body is made the same and there is beauty in every one, a fact that we are trained to ignore.

There is strength in every body. There is joy in every body. There is terror and laughter and fear and melancholy. There is life in every body. There is worth in every body.

This body is my temple and it is imperfect. This body is scarred but it is sacred. It has lines and shadows that aren't always my favorite. My thighs are thick and my hands aren't meant to play the piano. My hair is frizzy and my feet feel wide. But, this body is mine. This is my beautiful body. It is the one I am given, and it deserves more credit than I often give it.