Ripe

I think I was asleep
staring at mirrors
without ever really seeing
the girl that I am,
the woman that I’m worth.
I only saw
curls too frizzy,
a gut too soft,
hips too broad,
thighs too thick.
Nothing that would truly please anyone.
I carried these heavy pictures with me
tucked deep beneath my ribs
and when someone truly loved me
I threw my perfectly framed pain at them,
furious at them for loving me,
for not understanding me,
for not truly knowing me.
They were crazy to love this woman,
this flawed, spoiled, bruised peach.
In truth I was far from rotten.
My flesh had yet to ripen,
still sour, rigid, and ungiving.
So I became a Caterpillar,
folded into myself
and searched for my wings
till my eyes were enlightened
and I felt everything about me that was tender,
sweet enough to eat.
I became lighter, soft and blush,
a woman, ripe to love and be loved
with no need to even look at mirrors.