STRETCH MARKS
Written by Renee Wilson Performed by Liz Mikel
I remember getting these at eleven when I grew six inches in a summer. Too fast and the skin can’ t catch up.
Blasted me with the mark of a girl growing into her own. Colored with beautiful hues of red and purple, rose of sorts, stretched out for everyone to see. And then I covered it with clothes and makeup and excuses of how it came to be so young.
It was genetic and everyone in my family has them, is my defense. Are you getting fat? she said haughtily. I said no, it’ s just in my genes.
Angry and ashamed that someone could put the beauty of womanhood down. How could she? How could he? How could they? Really— how could I?
I never wore shorts unless they covered the stretch. I didn’ t wear bathing suits unless I was sure you couldn’ t really see the marks. Or I wore a towel around my waist until the exact moment I jumped into the pool.
It was there I felt safe.
Safe from the calling of names and from my envy of the girls that didn’ t have any at this age.
If I could have only known then how I feel nowgorgeous and free with each line that goes back down my thighs and curls back up to its place of leisure.