IMPERFECTLY PERFECT

By Gladys Gachanja

I stare hard at my slender naked body,
So smooth yet so flawed.
Curves so gentle, almost nonexistent.
I look hard at the silver stretchmarks crisscrossing my thighs like tendrils looking for
sunlight.
How can I love myself with all these scars and imperfections?
I wonder if he would love me the same if he knew how imperfect I was.
I stride so confidently, earning stares of admiration from most as I stroll down the busy
streets,
Secretly wishing I was as perfect as they think I am.
I wish I could see myself as they see me.
With eyes as kind and loving as a newborn to its mother’s breast.
Will I ever be able to put on a pair of shorts and take a stroll down the beach with my
imperfect legs?
Exposing to everyone how wrong they think of me.
I tell myself I don’t care much for people’s opinions,
But I find the silliest reason not to wear skimpy clothes,
Worrying that I’ll turn him off.
I go swimming early in the morning or late at night when no one is watching.
But I guess if he really loves me, he won’t mind, right?
I wouldn't say I am insecure; I guess I am just protecting my "perfection legacy," if there's
such a thing.
I wish I could throw away all my cares, do what I want, wear what I want and say what I
want.
But until then, I hope I see myself through kinder eyes,
Learning to love my body like the wonder it is.