I am proud of my body.
I am proud of my mottled, masculine-looking face. It is not refined. It is not covered in makeup as many girls my age do. I am proud of my acne. I’m not afraid to hide my pride on my face.
I am proud of my eyes, the bags under them and the expression I show to others and to myself through them. Whether it be laughter, sadness or content.
I am proud of my nose. I am proud of how flat and broad it is. I’m proud of the bridge of my nose, how fine and visible it is, compared to others.
I am proud of my lips, no matter how cracked and dry. I am proud of how I have to stick my tongue out slightly to moisten them. I am proud of the words I speak through them.
I am proud of my teeth. How yellow and brace-covered they are. Slightly plaque-y, but still I am proud of that, too.
I am proud of my cheekbones. I constantly smile with them and they are exceptionally visible when I do so. I got comments about them in 8th grade.
I did not let this pull on my strings or on my smile. I let my cheekbones lift my face.
I am proud of my body. My fashion sense. I do not dress like the other girls. I dress in random shirts, whether they be a dirty band shirt to a clean flannel. I might even mix it up to put on a scarf that makes me feel light and fleeting.
I am proud of my neck and broad shoulders. I am proud of my collarbone. All show how mighty and powerful I am. Unlike others, I am proud.
I am proud of my breasts. I am proud of the stretch marks and how I come out of my bras.
I am proud of my stomach. I am proud of the folds when I slump in posture and how smooth it comes to be when I sit up again.
I am proud of my torso and hips, which are also broader and curved in more than others. Girls pride themselves in slight hip curves and bigger breasts. I do not. I like my curviness.
I am proud of my legs, which have gone unshaved. Aye, people have forced onto WOMEN to have them shaved, but not men. All the time, throughout the year, I disagree. I do not shave unless necessary. I am proud of this.
I am proud of my feet, which are much bigger than a normal shoe size. Always socked, always stinky. I laugh at this slight smell, knowing it is normal. I more or less embrace it instead of being embarrassed.
I’m proud of myself. I am not proud of the numbers attached to my name. I am proud of the words I write, and not of how others view and grade them. I only know who I am. I know I shouldn’t be defined as a thing. A number.
But what upsets me the most is that’s how it works. You must be a number. You must be a thing in order to have popularity/chance.
I say FUCK THAT.
It is my body. It is my pride.
Don’t let people tell you different. I don’t.
