Oh, my appearance?
How fragile your love must be to break on the surface.
Your shallow gaze can’t touch the depths of my worth, for beneath the skin lies a fire that burns, I rise with a beauty that comes from within.
You laughed and mocked, pointed at the flaws you thought defined me,
but as I watched you shrink in your own cruelty, I realized — there’s more of me that doesn't like you.
Your judgment holds no weight, and what you see in me pales in comparison to what I’ve seen in you.
There is more of me that doesn't like you,
for there are 37 trillion cells in my body, each one a vessel of the trauma I've endured.
So yes,
there's more of me
that doesn't like you.
Each cell that holds my pain and a history it knows too well,
a depth far beyond what your eyes can see.
There is more of me that doesn't like you
I have 3,982,057 hair follicles on my body
So yes,
there's more of me
that doesn't like you.
And each tiny strand knows it well,
a count far beyond what you can hold.
There is more of me that doesn't like you
I carry many stripes, each one a testament to the strength I've earned through the 4 trials of bringing life forth.
So yes,
there's more of me
that doesn't like you.
Every scar that strands my body knows it well,
a story far greater than you could ever measure.
There is more of me that doesn't like you
I wore the weight of my trauma, each pound a shield I carried, trying to protect myself from the wounds that ran deeper than my skin, shame woven into the curves.
Each scar, each line a reminder of battles fought in silence, a history my body can’t forget, though, I have since left it behind.
So yes,
there's more of me
that doesn't like you.
Every scar that strands my body knows it well,
a burden far heavier than you could ever bear.
There is more of me that doesn't like you
The passion within me flickered like a candle, stifled by the insecurities of a man or woman who never learned to embrace their own light.
That passion lay dormant, a wildflower choked by doubt and each petal a dream unspoken, longing for the sun.
So yes,
I rise from the shadows,
embracing the fire within,
for every ounce of shame is a step toward freedom,
a reclaiming of the passion you sought to suppress.
Now beneath the scars and lines, I rise, there is more of me that I recognize.
Each mark once filled with shame now whispers strength in my name.
I reclaim the space, the curves, the skin, finally at peace with the body I’m in.
While you may not like me, your scorn is clear with every judgment cast, every word meant to wound,
I’ve realized there’s more of me that doesn’t like you, more strength in my heart, more love for my soul,
and a fierce resolve that grows, ever whole.
Amen