by Christina Brown
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for every time I’ve looked in the mirror and told you you weren’t beautiful,
For every seed of doubt I’ve ever planted.
I’m sorry for all the the meals I skipped,
Wishing that hunger would make you smaller,
Wishing you closer and closer to size 0, to disappearing.
I’m sorry for all of the scars I’ve left you.
Some have faded to white, but some will stay crimson and violet forever.
I’ve spent too many years fighting the body in the mirror,
My body.
I’m sorry for cutting you down with words and kitchen knives.
For burning you with glares in the glass and curling irons in my mouth,
Trying to punish you for existing and taking up space.
I was too blind to notice that you kept going, you kept healing.
You held on and waited for my love.
In my confusion and my sickness I forgot to honor you.
I forgot to marvel at your ceaseless wonders.
How did you master the intricacy of taking a breath?
How does every single cell know what to do?
Every hair knows how to grow.
Someone had to teach me how to use a toilet,
But you were born knowing how to rebuild yourself.
I forgot to be in awe of your every function and ability.
I forgot about the miles that my feet have carried me,
And the letters my fingers have written.
I forgot about the songs my tongue has sung,
And I forgot about the other miraculous bodies
That my arms have held.
I’m sorry for being ashamed of you, hiding you under baggy clothes,
And cropping you out of photographs.
I’m sorry for lying to you, right there in the glass.
I’m sorry for ever believing you were the broken one.
