(Photo of Lulani, mother of 2, by Jade Beall)

My body is celestial, divine
My curves like mountains and valleys,
Neither plains nor plateaus.
Little lumps and bumps like gravel under my skin
And hair shooting up like sprouts

Creating thickets and clearings
A lovely landscape, all the same.

My body is my own, my identity

It is sanctified and holy.

It is beautiful and feminine
The way my hair flows down my back
And my breasts hang heavy from my chest,
My waist flaring out into wide, wobbly hips
Then nipping back in to trim, delicate ankles.
Oh, how unappreciated you are, unfortunate body.
No one basks in your glory,
Not a soul ever tells you
Just how beautiful and precious you are.
You are deprived,
Starved then gorged then starved again
Squeezed into Spanx and
Chafed by bra straps and the backs of heels,
Beaten down, torn apart,
Wounds left open to smart and fester.
You are concealed by flowing dresses,
Sweatshirts and pants
And pounds of makeup beaten in to every fine little feature.
Why this injustice?
You are a relic,
You are a treasure,
You are every scar that tells its own little story
You are stretch marks and cellulite
And tan lines and asymmetry
And
You are full lips and long lashes
And sleek hair
And muscular thighs
And the hollows above your collar bones
And that shiny white million-dollar smile.
You are a masterpiece
Forged by the elements of the earth;
You are transcendental.

-Cristina Yelvington