“Home” by Kameron Abilla

I come 
from a long line of dieters
experts in contorting, 
molding,
hating their bodies.

the echoes 
of their long nights
in hunger,
sighs and tears over scales,
whisper to me
on certain days
when the wind
is just right:

the receipts
of their products that failed,
memories of tubs of powders
and baskets of bars
fill my mind.

and with this lineage 
I run my hands
over my stomach,
my thighs, hug my cheeks.
whisper, I love you.

marks, 
looseness, 
spots,
all speak to me louder
than the whispers 
on the wind:
this is home
this is safe
I belong to myself,
for myself.