descent of woman

He called my stretch marks lightning bolts.

I would tell him how ugly I was, how
my breath would catch in my throat as
people spoke about how ugly being fat was,
how the marks that came along with them
were scars with shameful descent.

I am not a woman who sacrificed
a smooth stomach for new life,
but my life should not be held back
by the lines that trace my skin.

He would tell me that my lightning bolts
showed an adventure, showed a world
that I shouldn’t have to hide.
He kissed the marks I used to cry onto.

He called my stretch marks lightning bolts,
and it’s no surprise I began loving storms.

—  “Tracing Lightning” | 23/52 | M.R.