Look at me.

Not like I’m a surprise.

Not like I’m some secret softness

you weren’t expecting to find

in a body like mine.

Look at me

like you finally understand

what the word beautiful

was made for.

I am not beautiful

despite my belly.

Despite my thighs.

Despite the softness that spills

where others shrink.

I am beautiful

because of it.

Because my skin holds stories