I kick off my converse shoes and skinny jeans

that now rest loosely on my hips, my skin

expanding with a light breath of relief

as though suffocated; the looseness due

to the gym work the tight hug of denim earlier

inspired. A thigh gap below my underwear

showing as I rip off panties with stripes

and elastic trim; a little reward of hard work

and patience, (the internet told me it’s what

skinny girls should have anyway.) I peel off

the constricting bra from my small breasts and

rub at the white lines left from its corners; My thin

socks with patterns, that I wear less for comfort

like everything else.


Stepping away from the pile of brand names

and price tags; Medium, Large; sizes that can

make you feel very small; I pull my hair

between my fingers and let it fall

the little scars from the clothes starting to fade

tilting my head as I step in front of the mirror,

pale and unashamed;

Left with just my skin and

knobby elbows, the circular birthmark

on my stomach and the bruises on my

legs, collarbones and hips. The awkward

and beautiful places beneath my clothes.


Unabashed in the solitude and silence,

I turn to look at the curve of my back

My ribs poke out; a skeleton

Though critically speaking,

I’ve never looked more like a body.


The tv and radio is shut down and even

the computer is sleeping; my synthetic hair

glowing dyed purples and pinks in the dimlight,

the only judges passing through this mirror

my own two eyes, and somehow

I see beauty, instead of

the constant nagging

each time I compare to photo shopped bodies

online or in print,

improve (Get smaller.)

improve (Eat less.)

improve (Thinner is always better.)


Like a return to nature or

ignorance of mainstream idea;

The removal of my clothes,

a removal of my labels.


Punk or preppy, skinny or wide

They are just hips now, just a waist

and a figure caught in the slim embrace

of a mirror, with a familiar face atop;

the body

without external

wants and expectations, naked—

(How free and uninhibited we seem

in this private state, private moments

we are taught to fear and hide inside,

the fragile fingers and muscled thighs,

dutifully covered and reprimanded

each time we let others judge it.)


We are

allowed and

should not be ashamed to be


where everything becomes simple,

stripping off the cloths of society and

the eyes of modernity, mundane and

imperfect things can become the



And in the freedom of our bodies,

and the freeing of our minds

from twentieth century

stupidity, we will find


Believe this (if you choose to believe anything.)


-D.N.B 2/15/13