This is what I’ve come to know:

It’s not my body that’s flawed,

Needing to be beaten, restricted

into submission. 

Held up against others, called

into question. 

It’s not the shape I hold that needs changing. 

Not a number on the scale, 

not a bigger pair. 

It’s not my body that’s sick, 

distorted, discontent. 

It’s not my body that needs fixed. 

It’s not my body. 

My heart is the one whispering lies from within. 

My heart is what’s bent toward believing,

If only, if only, if only. 

Wanting to be more by being—


Making idols and bowing before 




It’s not my body needing to be

Corrected and taught, retrained, reclaimed.

It’s not my body. 

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