We Are Not the Same and that’s Okay

It took way too long for me to start liking myself. I'm a queer fat lady with mental issues and an overactive imagination. But there are plenty of things to like:

My calves, strong and firm after all those years running and climbing stairs.

My writing, overflowing with words and worlds.

My eyes, the ring of orange nestled within the blue.

My laugh, always changing, always mine.

My hips, the smooth expanse of skin and warmth.

My compliments, otherworldly, always given.

My neck, soft and delicate, meeting my jaw in a gentle kiss.

My looks, the butch and femme and otherness blending together in a series of ecclectic taste.

My stomache, large, spilling over my jeans--this was the hardest one to love, but I love her for how soft she is.

My mind, always something else to say, to write, to fear, to dream, to laugh, to do.

But most of all, I love my heart.

My heart does things that make me smile.

My heart falls in love with strangers on the subway and pines after friends.

My heart holds on even when I know she shouldn't.

My heart burns and sizzles at the touch of another.

My heart brings me joy and causes me pain.

My heart is so big and full and loves so much.

But more than that, more than all of that,

My heart is my heart, mine alone.

And that's what makes me pretty great: that I am me and you are you.