Text by Artemis Steakley-Freeman

When this body was nothing but a stolen name, I reached for the sky to infuse it with something more than water. Stardust still floats through my veins. By the time that comets were done tapping stretch marks into my thighs, angels had already collided with my skin, leaving birthmarks in their wake. So this stardust woman had become more than a renamed girl.

I wonder if those stardust angels think about their bodies. If they look into heavenly mirrors and think "If my wings were just a bit smaller If my halo was gold, and If I was just a little bit darker, then maybe I'd be beautiful."

I'll bet that angels know that the past writes on our bodies for a reason. That every scar, bruise and stretch mark tells the story of our creation. Those angels have but to extend their reach past the stars to those still shackled to the mirage of perfection, And this thinspiration world will fall.

I'll bet the angels would tell us that we're not alone. They would say that if we want to, we can see ourselves as beautiful. They would want us to know that beauty isn't about appearance. Its about the sun in your eyes, the moon in your heart and the night sky on your skin. They would say that the stardust in your veins was beautiful.

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