when i was twelve, a boy likened my arms and legs to those of a woolly mammoth, so i shaved my legs and wore long sleeves for far too long
when i was sixteen, my body turned against me, made sleep painful and hallways daunting, i began to wish for the strength of the mighty mammoth
now at thirty-three, i wear two deep lines upon my face, marvelous mammoth tusks, embraced gifts of time and perspective, just waiting to be wielded
never again will my body be minimized by a comment.