Celebrate Yourself

Celebrate yourself, they say, mouths full of condescending confetti.

Love yourself, love your skin, love your body, love yourself from toes to soul;

leave no room for doubt, for the bitter whispers,

for cracks to break and spread.

There is little to celebrate, I once would say,

my skin wrapped tight around a fragile soul;

skin beaten blue and bruised until it has become armour,

polished to a starshine sheen.

There is nothing in me to celebrate, I reassure my quivering self.

They will not look this way.

These days, I see a different me, a mirror image full grinning.

We are not beautiful, but kind.

Not sharp gem bright, no lustre sparkle,

but a bonfire blazing fierce.

My skin once armour, now a shield.

My voice once trembling, now booming, a calling home to safety.

No celebration for me, I beg, for I am not done rebuilding yet.