The truth about my body is that she has not always felt like a friend.
Sometimes her supple, round edges have felt sharp like thorns—
disconcerting, weak and disheartening in their softness.
The truth about my body is that she has not always felt like mine.
Sometimes she has felt borrowed, uncomfortably foreign and strange,
At times she has felt taken, occupied by the violence of greedy eyes.
The truth about my body is that she has been tired and depleted,
burdened by wanting—
more of this, less of that,
bigger this, smaller that.
The truth about my body is that I have not always watered her with kind words,
but despite all this she has ceaselessly carried me
through years, and cycles and many many miles.
The truth about my body is that she has sat patiently in her strength and silence,
waiting for me to come around,
to ride her curves and celebrate her brilliance,
to blossom into finally feeling her fully.
The truth about my body is that although I have been absent, she has never left me.
Rooted and strong in her loyal quietude,
Always has been, always will be
perpetually welcoming me home.
.
Author: Alix Koloff
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Flickr/Hanna Alicé
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