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I have stretch marks.

I was ashamed of them once upon a time. Like any insecure teenager, I wanted it to go away. It was so red and visible to everyone. It looked so ugly. Undesirable. I would go to my family doctor and ask him for stretch marks removal cream. I would religiously apply it on my stretch marks but it never went away.

I was looking at my body just now. Observing myself with a mirror. I took off my clothes and I stood in front of a mirror. Stretch marks, birth marks, moles, scars; I had all of them. I might've hated my body if it was the 16 year old me, staring back at me through the mirror. But I'm not 16 anymore. I'm not that teenager anymore.

I love how my body looks. I love all its imperfections. The moles on my body. The stretch marks on my thighs and butt. Scars from the sad and happy times. Birth marks that have been with me since my first intake of air. Uneven skin colour. The shape of my breasts. The knobby knees. My small butt. The shape of my hips. My barely-there-but-there tummy. The curve of my body. My forever messy hair. Dimples. Uneven eyes. My weird looking toes.

I am free. From my own judgements against myself.