and as the night grows old

And as the night grows old,

And the stars glisten bright,

And the moon shines bold,

I start to think they may have been right.

Because now I do not care about how my stomach hangs

Not under this night sky.

Or how I once had choppy bangs,

And thought I may die.

I do not care how I may look,

Not with my dull hair or stretch marks,

Because not everything has to be by the book.

At least, not when the sky is this dark.

Now I'm sure as the sun rises,

I will start comparing myself to others.

Slipping back to my old vices,

Because I have never been a self-lover.

But for eight hours every night

I do not have to cower.

Not until I see the light.

Until then, I won't nit-pick and devour.

So I sit under the moon,

Shivering and cold.

Hoping day does not come too soon,

And watching as the night gets old.