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10Apr2017 014039 0016 nz

I find it strange that
we are so self-assured but also so
insecure. That I can love my head and
hate the body it’s attached to. How is it I see
myself so differently from what the mirror
shows me? How can I be fearless and caring when
my body stumbles over words as though
they are stones and likes a shot of vertigo
when I stand by third-floor windows? Its like torture; this mind
this body they are separate entities stuck together
in what was probably a fit of
remedial anger from Mother Nature;

“That’s just great humanity; thanks for
the oil spills and for tormenting my
insecure hemispheres. Now
here’s a one who’s
short and stubby – big boobs and
bad knees and eyebrows that’ll never be neat.” I was

once told you think
you’re three times prettier
than you actually are, but if that’s true then surely
we’re all walking disasters? And yet it’s
my mind that brings me relief. Like a
long-held sigh I can’t help but love
my mind – this mind that makes castles from caverns and
is fascinated by the evening tide. It falls in love
with orange skies and likes the sound of
another’s breathing at night. It’s only
flesh and blood I know but who knew of all my features my brain
would be the prettiest. Call me
an idiot hell call me a narcissist but

frankly I don’t give a damn about
the curve of your hips or
your chubby cheeks. It’s your mind that matters; your mind
that makes me want to lie next to you and
listen to the tick tock of
biological clockwork when you tell me how
you want to change the world. Your

body is a gold mine
because it harbors your mind and the
lack of a thigh gap or the way
your hair goes limp in the cold won’t change that. You
are beautiful because you feel
most alive in a crowd, because you learnt
to ride a bike when you were nine. It’s there, in the way
your neck arcs when you belly laugh and
in the way you frown at grey clouds. It exudes. It will
never fade. Your face will but
not that mind. What a beautiful mind
full of you.

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