The Parts I Used to Hide
The parts I used to hide look the most beautiful when they’re framed. Maybe they were never the problem — maybe I just hadn’t looked long enough.
The stretch marks. The folds. The way my stomach doesn’t lie flat, even when I do. I used to think these things made me less worthy of being seen. That desire had a shape I didn’t fit into — a smoothness I hadn’t earned.
But then came the mirror. The velvet straps. The weight of being watched — first by me, then maybe by you.
And I noticed something.
There’s power in framing softness like it matters. In placing metal rings and black lines around the places I’ve spent years avoiding. Suddenly, my skin wasn’t a flaw — it was a feature. A landscape. A story.
The parts that made me brace for rejection are the same ones someone might now kneel for. Not because they’re perfect, but because they’re mine. Because I’m not hiding anymore. Because I look long enough to see what’s there.
Sometimes that’s all it takes. Looking again. Holding your own gaze. Letting the straps press in just enough to say: this is worth containing. This is worth craving.
Even the parts I swore I’d always hate.