My house isn't perfect, Or how it 'should' be. It is a work in progress, And that's fine with me. I can see it's potential, And where it will land. It just needs time, And a helping hand. Yet if my body is my house too, Why can't I say the same? Feeling trapped in my skin, Full of sorrow and shame. I want to feel at home with my body, And appreciate its worth. Because without the body I'm in, There is nothing keeping me on Earth.