An Ode to My Stretch Marks

They say you are disgusting,

Ugly,

Shameful.

That I should hide you,

Under layers upon

Layers of clothing.

That I should rub my skin with

Lemons

Coconut

Acid.

That I should get surgery

Put myself under the knife

Attack you with

Needles

Scalpels

Sandpaper.

That I should be ashamed of you.

But I’m not!

I don’t want to be.

I want to love you.

To love the deep purple lines,

The silky texture,

The tattoos of evolution that decorate my thighs, stomach, arms, breasts.

I love being able to feel you,

To see you,

To read the story that you tell.

You tell the story of me,

Even more than the scar that decorates my knee and the bruises that never seem to go away.

The story

Of my evolution,

My growth into who I am today.

I would never want to erase that,

To forget it.

Even though I’m supposed to hate you,

To hide you,

To try to remove you,

I never could,

And I never will.