my parents always told me i was beautiful
my gramps calls me cutie
my pops calls me sweetness
my mama looks at me, and in her eyes i feel like the. most. spectacular. flower.

yet i rarely believe

i look in that damn mirror and see a form not belonging to me
i see a face filled with doubt, veiled with desire
i see a body objectified as an ideal feminine form
but one that brings me uncertainty and shame
one that i've yet to embrace lovingly
calling it my own
urging it to live inside love and art

this body,
this form,
is to be the vehicle for my art.

but how can i create art that i love in a body i don't?