I don’t like to look in the mirror: don’t like what I see.
Too big. Too lumpy. Too old. Too ugly.
He covers the reflection and tells me what he sees.
This body, he likes to remind me is His, not mine.
Not mine to criticize, His to feel proud of.
Not mine to mistreat, His to cherish.
Not mine to hate, His to love.
His to mark and photograph.