The scale doesn’t lie, they say, but it doesn’t tell the truth either.The mirror will tell the truth, but it waits until I’m not looking.It waits until I rub the soap over my upper arm, over my breasts,Over the spot where my hip meets my thigh and I squeeze.

Here are truths to hold on to: I am soft in places where I used to be sharp, And round in places where I used to try so hard.

This is what comes of feeding myself when I’m hungry,This is what comes of asking the days to make me fuller and wider,This is what comes of pain and joy,And letting them both live in my body As friends.

As you might imagine, this has caused some problems.I don’t know where to put the blush on my cheekbones anymore, And I can’t fit in to my old, tight life.

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