It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself.

The words of Ralph Ellison ring in my ears as I gaze at myself

I look down at my stomach.

At my chest.

At my legs.

I lean around and gaze at my bottom.

Red marks dark and unsightly against my skin 

Make rivets like angry veins

Sometimes I glide my fingers over them and wonder if this is my scarlet letter

Is this what defines me?

Or is it the parts that I didn’t ask for.

I gaze in the mirror and hold my stomach.

Feel my arms

My legs

And I smile

I’m flawless.

No one can rock this body  like I can,

Because it’s mine.

I have all the wrong parts

Some are too big

And my voice isn’t as deep as it should be

As I want it to be

But its okay

Because I was born this way

And baby, I’m perfect.