by Sarah Wolf
My stomach is beautiful—
Soft, round, it cushions me as I lie in bed writing.
My arms are beautiful—
Tan and lightly freckled, they carry me up the ladder to the roof.
My feet are beautiful—
flat, lacking arches, they pound I am worthy into the ground as I depart from negativity.
My eyes are beautiful—
slightly different sizes, they show me city lights and dark hills and plants in crevices. In the mornings, stripped naked of contacts, they tell of light blurs from the window, guiding me as I tightrope back from dreams.
These parts of me, sewn together,
are letters in my mantra:
Safe I am from personal judgment.
I am powerful and whole.