Gungor

I play my piano completely exposed. I allow my towel to fall onto the bench while I touch each key softly with my fingertips, just hard enough to formulate a G major. I work the progression from G to A to D until my voice grows tired. Each note touches my naked skin; becomes absorbed into my open pores and resonates throughout my bare body. My hair falls into wet curls partially over my shoulder. I feel the cool droplets descending onto the small of my back.
All this pain,
I wonder if I'll ever find my way.
I wonder if my life could really change at all. 

I press my foot down onto the sustain pedal as I push down on the last chord. The notes carry themselves out as I turn my head to look at my reflection. I see the silhouette of each vertebrae poking through my back. I see the way my 12 ribs say hello. I see my collar bone, I see my tiny wrists. But I also see the fat rolls on the front of my stomach. I see the stretch marks on my thighs and the bare cellulite kissing my piano bench. It's never good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?
You make beautiful things...
You make beautiful things out of the dust. 

Images swarm my head. They're like cartoons, teasing the fears in my brain; wondering what I'm trying to make of myself and asking if this is worth it. Telling me that if I give up, it'll make me a coward. 
All around,
Hope is springing up from this old ground.
Out of chaos life is being found in You.

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie