This is my body (a poem for Pride)

There was a time
When I wouldn't let my body
See the light of day.
It was wrong
It was less than
It was other.

Let me introduce you
To my acne scars,
Reminders of adolescent breakouts
That stayed around for too many years
as uninvited guests.

And here are my stretch marks
From gaining weight
And losing weight
And gaining weight
And losing weight
And, well, you get the idea.

Be careful not to go blind
When the light hits my
Porcelain skin
And it's thick dusting of
Ginger hair, but

This. Is. My. Body.

Those words trickle down
Through liturgy and scripture
And tradition and maybe
They mean more than just
Words of institution.

Maybe it's time to stop hiding
What's going on underneath
And wear my scars and my marks
And not let what I assume others see
Influence what I see.

Because my acne scars aren't written
Across my face like they
Could have been.

This. Is. My. Body.

My stretch marks tell a story
Of how I have failed but how
I have also overcome.

This. Is. My. Body.

And my pale skin lets the words
Written in ink on my arms
Stand out brightly proclaiming
My freedom
And the never ending presence
Of the Holy.

This. Is. My. Body.

So even if my community
Says everyone is welcome and celebrated
Out of one side of its mouth
The other side whispers
About an impossible standard
Of beauty.

I don't buy it anymore.
I see the insecurities the
Beautiful people face.
If I think it is tough to not fit the standard
How much harder it must be to have it all
And constantly fear losing it.

This may be a poem,
But I'm not trying to wax poetic.
There's not some great reveal at the end about
How I'm going to proudly head to a beach
In a speedo and SPF 200.
Because the truth is that
I still don't let my body see the light of day.

I do have scars and marks.
I am pale and ginger.
And I do see the impossible standards
That my community has imposed
On itself, but

This. Is. My. Body.

And when I take the Eucharist
I am reminded that I have been accepted as
A living member of the Holy.
And all the things that make me
Ashamed or less than
Disappear for a moment as words are spoken
And my soul is healed.

For me, the scars and marks are
On the outside
Well, and the inside, but mostly
On the outside.
All of us have scars and marks and pains
And need to feel those words of healing.

My body is your body is my body.
We are people through other people.
My scars are yours and your marks are mine.
I know I promised not to wax poetic
But there it is.

I don't want to diminish the truth of my
Physical insecurities because some days
They are the greatest truth I know.
But then I remember the poetry of
Our shared struggles and I relax my
Shoulders and embrace the greatest truth of all.

This. Is. My. Body.

And I'm going to love it.
Yours too.
Scars and marks and all.