there are lines between my thighs and deep trenches beneath my eyes,

and the cellulite ass cheeks that i thought i had before.

i used to flounce around with a tiny top and baby shorts in front of the mirror on the bathroom door.

now i skulk, from my bed to the wall, and my room is tidier than my legs are tall.

the floor behind me would be a mess of clothes, dresses and bras and broken stilettos,

and now it is clean, a shoe rack neatly stacked, like the thick rolls upon my back,

maybe in finding my feet, i let go of my belly.

i traded in late nights at the bar for evenings of work and wine before the same series on telly.

i started looking at myself as an adult, fully grown and the mirror looks at me with a sigh and a moan.

i grew up and my body ran away from me, faster than i could ever run a kilometre or three.

but is this look worth love, faith and power in myself?

when i put thin legs down and picked determination up off the shelf,

i let myself go, and found happiness along the way.

so if this is not what you want to see, look at my dedication not the pounds that i weigh.

this body is more than a reflection, a vision.

if all you care about is pretty, turn on the television.

my mirror looks at me differently now, sure.

but i look at myself with love that will endure.

Image courtesy of Pedro da Silva