illogical

Sometimes I look at my body in the mirror and wonder when I started hating it.
(I remember it, though. So I doesn't take that long.)
After a while, though, I search every scar and stretch mark and every kiss of an angel and count them.
I know how I got the scar on my cheek, and those vicious little lines on my ankles.
I admire the lighter spot under my left breast and my bare feet, flat against the floor. I admire the way my thighs look when it's dark.
It's been a while since I haven't hated my body - the only thing people know of me. Stranger, especially. Been a while since I haven't spend a moment in a day spitting ugly words at it.

But however, it's been a while since i've hurt it. Since i've caused bruises to myself, scars.