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My Shorts Are a Form of Rebellion

My shorts are a form of rebellion

to a world who has told me no

to a dad who told me my legs look gross

to a mom who told me that clothes can’t be that short.

My shorts are a form of rebellion

to the years where I covered up

to the long shirts and pants worn

even when it was 90 degrees out

so others wouldn’t have to see my body.

My shorts are a form of rebellion

and I hope they gross you out.

I hope it makes you uncomfortable

When you see my pale scarred trunks

and I hope you feel sick to your stomach

When I tell you I love myself.