Big Fat “F”

Standard

There is someone who contaminates my self-worth, infecting it like HIV.

Tearing me apart, to her, is as easy as ripping a sheet of paper in two.

First, she pops like bubbles times in my memory where I felt pretty.

I dare not remember intimate moments with my husband.

I cringe at the thought that what she is showing me now, he saw.

I am bare and vulnerable, and she takes advantage.

She lectures me “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Exposing me with her eyes, she marks each flaw wrong like an English teacher with a red pen,

Thighs that are bumpy…X,

two toned and hideous…XX,

A stomach that sags…XXX,

“Don’t bend”, she grunts, “it makes it worse”…

I am bullied to listen, as she scrutinizes my blemishes’ bad grammar…

Stretch marks, like shattered glass on pristine porcelain,

If it were a coffee cup or vase, it would surely be thrown out with the garbage,

But it can’t because it is stuck, a part of me.

Examining me from head to toe, she grades me a big fat “F”.

I hang my head, looking no longer into that mirror where she stands.

I take my marked up paper of a body and go back to the back of the class,

I take a solemn oath never to raise my hand again.

Some Things Just Are

Standard

How can a bird expect not to fly,

Or a lion not to be feared?

How can a flower not expect to be plucked,

Or a dandelion, not be blown.

Cold is expected in the dead of winter,

And heat in the dead of summer.

A tear does not surprise a broken heart,

Nor does a smile a happy face.

And because of you,

Peace,

Forgiveness,

Love,

Do not surprise me.

For how can a child of God not expect to be blessed?