Stretched.

Trace the lightning in my stretchmarks
and tell me how strikingly beautiful you think I am.
Trace the branches of your favourite tree
And tell me why you think growth is beautiful.
These stretchmarks form like roots on my body
Love me from my beginning.
Tell me you know why I got these marks
Tell me you know why my body had to grow beyond its limits.
Let me tell you the story of how my skin stretched to cover up the parts of me I couldn’t understand.
These marks look like every time I’ve shattered,
And I’m a woman who made pain into art.
Made in God’s image and
You can find those 39 stripes
Every time you look at a womans thigh.
They say women were made from the rib of men
And we spend our lives holding the insides of these men together while we break in half
It’s hard being a woman and we sure get punished for it.
But my God! It’s so glorious.
See these are battle scars
And sometimes the war is within me
I used to hate the way these marks broke the smoothness of my complexion.
My life has been Rough. Rigid. Reckless.
And these marks tell my story beautifully.
But I touch my skin like I’m learning braille
These marks read;
“Baby girl your body burns like the sun and these marks are horizons of your soul stretched out to meet anyone willing to follow your light and meet the God within you.
Anyone who touches you will be entering holy grounds.
-Lethica Nair.

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