I stretch and breathe.
I expand and reach out
to touch a lock of hair.
It is never out of place
even as it grows and gets cut
It is still the same self.

The scale inches up
more and more each visit
to a specialist’s office.
Do I dare to look?
If I don’t see it,
it doesn’t truly exist, right?

I see myself as the same me
though the outerwear has morphed
grown no longer so firm
and fertile.
How I feel so outside of myself.

Disconnected from my center.
The space that grew and bore
two beautiful children.
I marvel at their beauty,
their perfection every day.

How can I find them so perfect
and me, who bore them, so imperfect?
Societal norms
Harsh words that stung
and played around
over and over in my brain.

Till I believed them as truth
words I vow never to say
to these beautiful babes
so full of potential
truly wanted and loved.

Is love really finite?
Can’t I find some of that same love
and turn it toward me?
To my center
to my current weight
and space I occupy.

I don’t want to live in regret
and I want to shed these old
stories, these old beliefs
no longer holding me back.