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Curves and lines, Dips and swells, 

That is what I feel,

When I slide my hands down, 

From my torso to my thighs, 

A piece of art with different feels, 

The curves and swells, 

Highlighting the body mass that is supposed to have, 

The dips and lines showing me how perfectly normal I should be.

 

Smooth skin, blemishes, old scars, and some coloring, 

That is what I see, 

Staring back at me from the mirror, 

Just from what I was expecting my body to look like, 

A show of my age, my life, and every encounter I go through, 

I just feel naturally occurring, 

To blend in with my growth and my life, 

Exactly what is to be expected to happen to everybody or even object, 

That goes through the life cycle. 

 

My face has a little discoloration on one spot, 

From too much sun that I labor in, 

But then I walk around the street, 

And they stare at the discoloration,

Apparently am not supposed to have uneven facial skin, 

It doesn’t make me beautiful, they say.

The hormones gave me a little pimple, 

It left a black spot and acne on my face, 

So they passed me by, mumbling on how I don’t look good, 

For my body to be natural? I don’t know…

 

I grew up, the lines and curves became prominent, 

As I walk by I hear whispers and murmurs, 

“Can’t she lose weight?”

“She looks hideous”

“I wouldn’t be able to face the world looking like that”

But wait…when did we get a standard for how we should look?

When did the memo for what body you were supposed to walk with come out?

Are curves and lines no longer accepted?

So the noise continues,

The stares and the murmurs,

All join the line in proclaiming the judgment,  

All on how my body should feel like and look like.

 

I dress up today, marveling and the good thing my body is, 

By medical standards, my body is not obese, 

By the same standards, I smell marveling at the fact that am not anorexic, 

I smile knowing my partner will appreciate this little, big health fact, 

But I get to the date and he exclaims that maybe I should hit the gym, 

So that my body would get good, to get rid of the excess bumps and rolls, he claims,

I thought I was healthy?

I thought being healthy was beautiful?

When did the standards change?

 

So I go back in front of the mirror, 

This time to feel and look at the same time, 

All the curves, lines, swells and dips, 

Accumulated over the years, 

Some of the things I did to “look good”

Some just from life struggles, 

I see a piece of art, 

I feel the different compositions and texture it has, 

All blended together for a beautiful piece, 

I smile and I don’t see the discoloration, 

And I wonder why people thought it was bad and why they murmur, 

Don’t they see the piece of art that I see?

Don’t they see the beautiful mended art?

Standing out in beauty despite the many curves and lines added?

I do, and I smile in glee knowing I am a MENDED ART!!