Staying Power

Will you still love me if I don't shave my legs?
If I don't wear any make-up or low cut blouses?
Will you still think I'm pretty if I gain five pounds?
If I wear t-shirts and old, faded, jeans?

Am I more to you than the facade I give the world?
Am I more to you than my outermost being?

Will you still love me when my breasts begin to sag?
Or when I no longer am able to control every bodily function?
Will you still think I'm beautiful if I gain another five pounds?
Or if I stop dyeing my hair to hide the white strands?

Or will you leave me for breasts that are naturally perky?
For someone whose body is supple and perfect?

Will you love me even though my body is a graveyard?
One that is unable to ripen and produce fruit?
Will you forgive me for the faults of my imperfection?
In spite of all the weaknesses?

Am I more to you than a person in a crowd?
Am I more than a wilting flower of a body?

Will you still love me when I am no longer perfect?
Will you still love me, in spite of myself?
Or will you walk away, your love a mere trifle,
an empty promise made to a weakening heart?

Do I have staying power?