Cuerpo

I often wonder why the mirror isn’t friendlier,
why what I see feels like a betrayal.
Thoughts of failure and disappointment.
I must unlearn the lie in this portrayal.

For what I see is a mere reflection
processed to believe it’s wrong,
that years of abuse on my body
are no excuse for carrying on.

But I carry with me this baggage
for the years of abuse that hold on.
My curves cause pain to my mind
I spent years settling down with a meal.
Now society shames me unfairly
when all I intended was to heal.

For what I see shouldn’t matter
except to myself when I stare
at a young man who’s told
he shouldn’t look that way.
But why?
Why do they care?