My body is not beautiful. I say this not to play on people’s pity, but as a simple fact. My body reflects the moments of my life like a road map…stretch marks, scars, finger prints from ancient history…they are mini-monuments that mark points along the way. My body reflects my history, it is not meant to be a thing of beauty.
Our lives are not beautiful. There are points and periods of pure beauty, joy and love. There are times of trouble and pain, anger and fear. And the two – happy and sad – intertwine like the highway system, one red, one blue showing the way.
My body is not beautiful. It reflects the sad times – the valleys of self-hatred, the rivers of sorrow, the ruins of my past.
My body is not beautiful, but it is strong and healthy, capable of running great distances and carrying heavy loads. My body does not buckle under pressure, it just keeps moving forward.
My body is powerful, my soul is beautiful and that’s the way it should be.