Kissing her scars 

What’s curious is the amount you can hate but care, hoping for the better.

They told her to love herself before she could love another. They told her to walk with her chin up and sugary eyes. They told her to be proud instead of blending with the shadows.

But how? How, when she hides from mirrors,terrified of her own reflection? How, when the sight of her own thighs, scarred with stretch marks horrifies her?

How, when she despises her sunken, tired eyes and large, dry lips? (not the kind of lips you see on the face of magazines,those seemed to be perfectly alright)

She scowled at her acne, accommodating most of her face and the obnoxious folds in her disfigured stomach.

They told her to fall in love with herself before she decided to give her all to another. They told her to shift her eyes from floors and embrace herself. If only it were as easy as it sounds.

She didn’t listen to them. She couldn’t.

She let her life revolve around his happiness and annoying, sarcastic smirks. She let herself fall head over heels in love with him although there wasn’t a part of herself that she loved.

But, he looked at her like he hadn’t seen a sight as beautiful. He ran his hands down the folds of her thigh as if he preferred nobody else’s. He read into her sunken eyes, curious about her untold stories and caressed her acne filled cheeks. He touched her dry lips like they were the softest he’s ever touched and smiled his happiest smile. He placed his lips on hers,slightly tugging at it. Never had her body felt so electric.

He pressed his palms against her breasts. Her breasts-which she despised. Her breasts-which seemed too large and most ugly.

Yet,to him she was divine.

Then they lied down hand in hand, naked bodies, naked souls and spoke of their favourite colours of the sky.

Maybe after all, she didn’t have to love herself first.

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