I’ll paint my stretch marks
While I caress my fingers through them
I’ll paint my stretch marks
When I’ll feel not good enough about my body
Because stretch marks are undeniably beautiful
But they make my body real
And skin be it textured or not
Is to be touched with the same love
And the aesthetic of it is just for mortality’s sake
But the feeling of touch remains forever
Next time you touch your skin
Run your fingers once in a while through the lines
You’ll realise that they make your body more raw
And the attraction towards real is less I’ll agree but it’s inevitable
And under the sheds of those skin layers
Is the pulse of the cells keeping you alive
Because once you stop breathing
No one’s going to remember
If your stomach had strechmarks
Were they four or five ?