Brefny / Toronto / 11.23.15
A love letter to my body:
I love you, my disgusting, puckered, jiggly, misshapen, body.
With all my heart.
You are my home.
And the beautiful branches of white lines that decorate my arms, thighs, boobs, and bask side from the
fluctuation of my frame tell a story.
Younger, fatter, thinner, older, harder, softer.
I love you sides that hang off my silouette and lump, clump, and stick out like sore thumbs looking to
catch a break.
I love my itchy skin. Always itchy. Always red.
Red, like my face when I catch myself looking at myself.
Only to see nothing.
I love you only pair of stretchy black gym shorts I wear because, in you, I am unable to properly gage
the war I wage of every pinch, inch, and morning getting ready to leave the house.
I love you extra large, loose fitting, t shirt for the same reasons.
I love you left thigh and I love you right thigh.
For standing by me, thigh'd by thigh'd.
For having the strength to hold me up even when, inside, I am so ready to drop off the face of the earth.
I love you anti-thigh gap for keeping me warm the old-fashioned way.
And I promise I won't try to scratch you or squeeze you into little denim pants that constrict and
suffocate you. It must be hell in there considering your persistent plans of escape.
I love you waist and hip whatever size you are because I am too afraid to know for sure.
32,34,30,29,32...8, 10, 12...
I love you tummy. I love the way you are. Such a chill vibe, always hanging out.
I love you all, in spite of myself.
And I will continue to love you no matter what I say.
And no matter what happens, you're always going to be there for me.
Until you decide you've had enough and are done baring the scars of this complicated love.
You are not my enemy, I am yours.
And I am yours. Forever.