my body is fine right?
like it does the trick?
my husband is super 
into it but other 
people would be 
too, yeah?

and my face?

is it still pretty 
even when I’m 
not smiling?

sometimes
I’m ashamed
at how much 
that matters—
how much my 
love involves 
lust, how much 
self-worth 
depends on 
the eye of 
the beholder

it’s not cool.
definitely 
not in line
with my 
feminism,
with my 
acceptance 
of everyone 
else, with
body positivity.

why is the
boundary
of my empathy
measured by
the amount
of work I do
to keep myself
beautiful?

he likes me 
the way I am.
do you?