Declaration of being.

I am well-formed.
Consider my limbs:
they are legs with feet and toes,
and if they were broken or missing,
still I'd be well-formed.
And my arms. I have two, with hands and fingers,
and if I had one arm or no fingers, still I'd be well-formed.
And my head is definitely head-shaped,
and I am reasonably sure there is a brain in there.
It pumps thoughts and signals, it sends and receives,
and it moves the arms and legs and keeps me living.
If my brain was half a brain or my head
had indentations, still I'd be well-formed, for
I excel at this, being a person.
And you and you and you do, too, we all do.
No one fails at being a person.

And still, and yet,
the number on the scale, the hair I must remove,
the clothes I must wear, the shoes,
my ruddy skin, the age spot,
the glasses that slip down my nose
the sweat seeps through my dress
the throbbing ankle
the aching tired
the

the

ugly humanness of me

is all I see.

Consider beauty:
Burnished limbs, long and lean,
straight rows of white teeth, the perpetual smile,
the eyes that never look tired.
The beautiful dress, the flawless accessories.

I am not that beauty.
But I am.

I am

this beauty

:::

(This was inspired by a line from Neil Gaiman's book, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. A character says to another something like -- or maybe exactly -- "No one fails at being a person." And it really stayed with me. Clearly.)