I’m sorry I was that person in high school who pretended to be your friend but left after things got ugly.
I’m sorry for a lot of things.
Dear body, I grew into you and never stopped, or at least that’s the nice way of putting things. At least that’s gentler.
I started wearing makeup so that people would stop looking at you, but it only made them look more. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that I loved you like something to be sorry for. When the strangers all stared at you, and when Josh would scream “Fat girl!” at you from across the street until he decided that you were pretty enough to be left alone, I pretended not to know you. My back has a curve from where I would try to hide from you, and it is the only mistake I’ll never be able to take back because it has bloomed into a mountain, into a punchline that my sisters like to imitate from time to time, and we both laugh at it because there’s nothing else to do.
you are still growing crooked, and I want you to know that it’s okay. I am still trying to find any possible way to make you into something beautiful, but all I can come up with are distractions and flattering mirrors.
For every time I didn’t stick up for you. For every time someone has been kind to you and you felt like you didn’t deserve it, just know that I wish the love I had for you was braver. Just know that I wish I had courage that didn’t make me tired.
I’m sorry about all the falls you’ve taken, all the bruises you’ve worn in the name of being invisible. I’m sorry about the torch you’ll always carry for the first person who ever saw inside of you and wanted to stay. I’m sorry about all the boys who will never, ever look at you like the magic that you are.
Dear body, I’m sorry that you cringe when people tell you that you are more than enough. I’m sorry that you used to prefer hearing that you were nothing, but we are older now, and still imperfect, and still huge and soft and glowing. We have learned about the bravery of climbing towards the sun, even if we are sweating and out of breath while doing it, like those cartoons we used to cry watching. I need you to know that I’m still scared, that there are still places that I can’t take you, and my left shoulder will always remember how it felt when it broke itself on the ground, but I love you better now. I will always love you better, so here it is again. You are more than enough, and that’s okay. You are more than enough, and you are allowed to be.”