i stood in the full length mirror wearing an outfit i thought would be nice for my upcoming poetry feature. i got the outfit years ago, probably as a christmas present from my mom, who buys all my cutest things. i experimented in my mind with accessories i owned, trying to figure out if i needed to get something new... actually, i already own the stuff that would make the ensemble work for what i was going for. but part of the outfit is this sweater that i've worn quite often in recent months. and i didn't want to wear it, again, on the night of my feature. it's an important night for me, and i want to feel kind of brand new and special. it'll be my first feature ever, at the first place i ever read my stuff for strangers, and it'll be the first time i perform in my new year, since my birthday is two days before. so i decided to go shopping for something to take the sweater's place.
easier said than done. first of all, everything i found didn't work, so far as color and style and preference were concerned. (if you're a guy, and you're still reading
see, my mom - my best friend and most trusted life advisor - didn't miss a beat when i told her about my desire to cover my butt. she could see if i had a really gross butt, but i don't, by any stretch of the imagination, so why would i be trying to
do you, and
anyway, upon realizing that there was no point in trying to hide, i wound up deciding to deliberately put some sparkle into the outfit. i bought accessories that pop. big ones - sparkly ones. noticeable ones. i'll probably wear the sweater until i get warmed up and then take it off at some point, kinda like how when i get to a party i'm a wallflower until i get comfortable enough to start dancing.
and of course, after leaving the mall, i thought about it. and thought about it. see, i'm all about telling other women to love themselves and their bodies and to celebrate what God has endowed them with, 'cause i know that everything else is
the negative side
and when it comes to my body, there are just some things i just don't do, out of a desire to be overlooked. as in, don't look this way. don't have an opinion about me.
desire to be
i can't, in good conscience, call myself a role model or exhort all the women i know and love to be themselves unashamedly if i can't do the same for myself. physician, heal thyself, right? so i will be using the next few weeks to talk myself out of covering my booty, and to shore up the bravery to confidently be myself, despite what anyone could possibly have to say about my beloved boo- uh, i mean - body.