I have A/AA breasts, my nose is a cross between Lilo's and Rudolph's, my feet and hands are small, I'm barely 5'2", my butt has freckles, and there are some battle scars underneath my tattoos.
And you know what?
I WOULD NOT CHANGE A THING.
My body's not ideal, but it's mine nonetheless.
My small breasts? They're just right for the right hands, and someday they'll swell with nourishment for my child.
My not-cute-as-a-button nose? They're an inheritance from my dad, and in my over 20 years of existence, have guided me to such wonderful scents as safety and unconditional love (my mom, spelling like Ivory soap and Chanel No. 5), first love (Acqua di Gio), and true love (sun-ripened mangoes).
My dainty feet have taken me from O'ahu to Harvard, and soon to Istanbul. My small hands lovingly cook food from scratch, and have held my dad as he lay dying.
My butt has landed on ice too many times as my friends and I (attempt to) skate across Frog Pond, laughing and enjoying each other's company.
My scars are proof that I am stronger than cancer and Hurricane Isabel.
In these flaws and inadequacies, I see beauty and feel strength.