When the Caged Bird Sings

When he touches me,
I no longer see the cover model on a magazine,
that I will never be.
I see the beauty of a touch
from someone so loving.

When he kisses my naked skin,
I forget the imperfections,
the fears of body image,
the need to be delicately thin;
the fears that imprison my mind.
When he kisses my naked skin,
I am,
for the first time,
beautiful in my minds mirror.

I wonder if he notices
when I kiss his sharp bones,
how I ache for those to be my own.
Hips so defined,
you can cup them in your hands.
Collarbone’s so deep,
you could sip wine from them.
Body so beautiful,
you could lose yourself
with a single touch.

I wonder if he knows my pain,
will ever know the pain,
of being stared at,
standing beside a man so beautiful.
Stares that wrap around my throat,
pulling that rope tighter, pulling me higher.
Suffocating me,
leaving me to dangle helpless.

But every time he does something so amazing.
He cuts me down.
He saves me.
And he catches me in a blanket of impassionedly stitched
love and beauty.

When he touches me,
I am beautiful.
When he kisses me,
I am infinite.
When he loves me,
I am forever.