Starting small, with only known things

for Imogen

 

Before the polished sand of her mirror

Freckled and pale

Limbs and moles as she remembered

 

Temptation

in dismantling

her self a specimen for

dissection

A tally of flaws

 

How radical would it be

to love instead?

Were that even allowed

Unsure,

starting small

with only known things

Affirming

feeling

Love for her nose

these ankles

elbows

are ok

I guess

And on she builds

Credence like jenga rising

higher

on the brink of collapse

 

Unlike Emily,

compass & chart

Are far from futile in this

untraveled territory

 

Mania or self-love?

is she latching on to hope or

is she hopeful?

 

Like those bees

drunk on the nectar of confusing life

she stands bare to my life’s most ardent critic

And brashly

in the face of proscribed loathing

she finds beauty

And soon like the butterfly

is glittered in this magic dust

known to most

as confidence.

 

by Clementine Yost ©

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