If my body was a garden…
I wonder if I would love it slightly more?
If the hairs that sprout from my chin were actually stems of beautiful flowers, aching to see the sun
Would I accept them with curiosity and excitement?
Or would I still pluck them from their soil?
If my uneven breasts were simply 2 different bouquets, one comprised of stout marigolds, the other made up of tall lillies
Would I still wish for them to be symmetrical?
Or would I revel in the vibrancy that diversity brings?
If my tum rolls were mounds of fertile grass, from which new beginnings could flourish and old endings could rest comfortably
Would I still squish and tear it up with my fists and words?
Or would I let my loved ones, seeking comfort and safety, lie upon it?
What if my dimples, bumps, and hair were simply a patchwork of various wildflowers
encouraging the wild to burst forth from within me?
Would I damn them?
Or would I dance with them?
If my thick thighs were actually solid tree trunks,
keeping me rooted,
grounded,
secure
Would I curse their existence or dislike the way they look in jeans?
Or would I celebrate them, freeing them from fashionable prisons to remain steadfast and strong?
