I look at myself in a mirror,
Trace my fingers over lines and marks that I am unsure of.
I was skinny once.
Then I met a boy who changed my life and I got comfortable.
But just lately I have been thinking.
There must be a reason that he still whispers sweet nothings in my ears
And strokes gently along naked flesh.
He tells me I am beautiful and the look in his eyes says it is true.
I look at myself once more and realise.
Beauty is not a size twelve, pert breasts and 35inch legs.
It is truth and reality,
A body that screams of stories and history,
Of a past, a present,
And a future with you in my arms.
So maybe I am beautiful after all.
I will never grace the glossy pages of a magazine,
Or decorate the side of a bus as an advertisment for mascara,
But I know.
I know that I am more real than any plastic girl striking a pose with blonde hair Barbie would be proud of,
Because my body talks my truths and every curve fits with you perfectly.

And as I lie here naked with you
I know that right now,
I am the most beautiful girl in the world.