One day, the hair on your thighs won’t rattle your confidence.
You’ll greet their length with lifted spirit.
To your stretch marks, one or two—you will smile as you trace their lines.
Body squirming, lips writhed.
You’ll pour love into the asymmetry of your face.
Tongue tickling the imperfections of your teeth.
One day, you’ll love your scars.
Battle wounds from battles of existence.
One day, split ends won’t end your great hair day.
A missed strip from shaving won’t negate the way your legs will take you.
Your body odor will be your body scent.
You will see blood come out of you in its natural way. And naturally welcome it.
Not a war cry from your lips, but a blessed life bringing bleed.
You will see yourself how I see you.
when you are naked, sitting on the floor, a light roll rolled over a roll.
You hair tangled and wet, dripping down your chest.
Your face moisturized, “Plain like Jane,” you say.
One day…you will love yourself the way you were made.
And when that day comes, you will know what it’s like
to be in love with your perfectly imperfect wife.