When lips touch, the familiar tingle,
Eyes close and teeth have learned not to touch.
Kissing is a skill that has to be trained,
A waltz danced differently with every partner.
You pick your own path, translate desire into movement,
Do not forget to breathe.
But if air no longer fills your lungs, and you desperately gasp,
I hope I was the one taking it away.
“Someday I will love myself” I said,
Unhappy with curves, spots and thighs,
Only focused on them in the mirror.
Fingers touched bone, confusing skin with fat and not finding any beauty,
Never thinking of myself as perfectly imperfect.
Slowly realising that everyone has flaws,
Stop thinking of yourself as different.
Your skin is smooth and pale, decorated with the occasional birthmark,
Like wrapping paper it holds a precious gift.
Appreciate it, stare at your reflection for a while.
And when it all sinks in, smile.
After all these years you did it,
You love yourself.