Vessel

I have cursed you in mirrors,

called you heavy, called you ugly,
tried to outrun your reflection,
tried to carve you into something smaller,
less noticeable,
more pleasing to someone else’s eye.

Yet,

You carried me through years I thought I wouldn’t survive.
You held the weight of all my becoming.
You softened when life asked you to grow,
and you did, twice
becoming the cradle for children who know only safety in your arms.
I forget that sometimes.
I forget how strong you’ve always been.

You carried me across thresholds I was not ready for.
You bled and bent and healed,
again and again,
without ever asking for anything in return.

And how did I repay you?

With shame.
With silence.
With hunger and criticism and hiding.
I treated you like a burden

I’m tired of hating you
As you have held me for every moment of my life.
Tired of looking in the mirror
and mistaking survival for failure.
Tired of measuring worth
by angles and shadows.

I want to worship this skin,
not because it is flawless,
but because it is mine.
Because it has endured.

I want to move you with purpose,
fuel you with care,
to honor the vessel that has carried me this far.

I want to look at my reflection
and say thank you,
not for how you look,
but for how you stayed
when everything else fell apart.

I want to live inside this body
like it is sacred ground.
Because you are.