An Apology Letter to My Body by Tyler Miles

 

I’m hungry.
I imagine the fat dissolving in my stomach as it begs for what I know it needs.
Everything is nothing.
I eat nothing. I feel nothing.
I lock myself in a cage.
The edges of the key dig into my palms.
Invisible tears fall down my face as I smile and say, “No thank you. I’m full”
Haunted by nightmares of cake and beer
I’m tired.
I can feel the flames in my calves, shaving away at the parts of me I hate.
Keep going, Tyler.

I’m sorry for hating you.
I’m sorry I believed all of the lies about you.
I joined in with the jeering world and I never stood up for you. I refused to see you the way you are.
The truth is, these legs have carried me up mountains so high I couldn’t see the peak. These arms have carried the weight of my world and the weight of others for miles and miles. These hands have carried pieces of my broken heart as the sharp edges cut into my fragile skin. My stomach has felt the pangs of hopeless sobs. This body continued to carry me as I was destroying it and refusing it love. Thank you for loving me more than I ever loved you.

Kate Kovacs

Kate Kovacs

Kate Kovacs is a 25-year-old Education major from Alberta. She is driven by both perfectionism and existential fear, but she finds joy in nature, creativity, and genuine human connection.
Kate Kovacs