This body



This body
is a work of art.

The crinkles around my eyes
from smiling
and laughing
and squinting.

The bumps on my knees
from falling off of my bike
from falling on a hike
from falling over laughing.

The small burn marks on my hands
from taking cookies out of the oven
from boiling water on the stove.
from building a fire.

This body is indeed a work of art.
The stories she carries
you wouldn’t believe.
The tales of heartbreak
and healing
and pain
and joy.
Each story
a badge of honor
resting right below the surface.

And yet,
I forget.
I forget that she is art.
That I am art.

I forget that whatever force put me here
whether that’s the big bang
or god
or the universe
also put the mountains here
the trees here
the ocean here.

I forget that my body is also
the mountains
the trees
the ocean.

She is the rivers
and valleys.
She is soil
and sand.

I forget.
Sometimes for a moment
Sometimes for a week.

I forget that my body is a work of art
That I am a work of art.
a masterpiece simply by my mere existence
simply by this wondrous ability to
breath out.
and breath in.
Simply by the mysterious way
I move though cycles
the same way this planet moves through seasons.

I forget that this piece of art is not meant to be criticized.
Or asked to become smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until all of her stories
and wisdom
and beauty

It doesn’t matter if her size
goes up
or down
or sideways.

What matters is that I’m treating her with love and care
that I’m listening
and listening
and listening.
until I hear all of her answers
as truth.

Sometimes I forget that I can not control
the stories my body tells
the way she moves
the way she changes.
I can only show up
to listen.
and answer.

I can only let her
be soft
and wild
and electric
all at once.
to answer when she asks
to dance in the moonlight
to swim in the salt water.

This body is art
that can not be tamed.
And to try to tame her
is to ask the waves to stop rolling.
is to ask the moon to stop orbiting.

To try and control this wild beauty
this chaotic existence,
is to ask nature to stop creating.

So please
Let poetry roll from your lips.
Let colors dance from your fingertips.
Let your very existence
be a masterpiece.


15 thoughts on “This body

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