I never liked my hands much;
with a thumb that likes to wiggle when I write,
eyelashes that have tried ten kinds of mascara
and never get long enough.
There are my lips, thin, not full
like women on the cover of those beauty magazines
that I like to flip through
to make me feel more imperfect
and then there are these breasts
some people call voluptuous
that make it so difficult to shop for clothes,
made me question the motives of every male
who has ever spoken to me;
the cause of my self – consciousness
since I was fourteen.
Not to mention ivory skin that burns in the sun,
and I am short; yes,
I have a step stool to reach my kitchen cabinets,
But, today, I looked in the mirror and realized,
despite and because of these imperfections,
I am unique.
I am one of a kind.
These hands that raised three beautiful babies,
fingers that write poetry, lips that read it aloud
to the man that I love before I kiss him goodnight.
I never liked my hands much,