My body is tired on Mondays
Fat in places it shouldn’t be,
Cellulite thighs and cheeks,
Stretch marks laid like river signs on a map
that takes one through the forest of growth and pain.
I have dirt under my fingernails,
Random acne breakouts on my face,
And messy curls on my good days.
On my bad days I cry in the car,
And sometimes let out a horrid scream,
shaking the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip
just to let off steam.
Always alone in my thoughts
without a lover’s shoulder to bury my face into
when reality feels like a burden.
I’m mostly happy
But sometimes, momentarily defeated
I am harder on myself than anybody
Making the mirror a tool for reflection
- Not an enemy, but not always my friend.
I try hard to be better,
Continuously finding the courage to live another day.
Praying for strength, asking for guidance
A rose quartz in my pocket
- I’m hopeful on Sundays
Born a fighter,
and still beautiful when I smile.
Poetry on Paper 