My feet are the interface of earth and spirit.
My eyes are all-purpose-
Projectors of a holographic reality
Repositions of expression
X.acto knives through superficial glares
My lady parts bear the most agony of pain, yet bear children, as pure as now.
The most vulnerable rite of attack yet the most relative force in existence.
My nails protect the fingers. The hands. The palm that destroy, protect and create - every savior needs salvation too.
I am too tall. There is no such thing, though. My hair is untamable, uncooperative, does as it will. I should be more like it.
My mind is folded up and down. It is dark and broken. But I am fixing it.
My blood runs red, runs down, weeps rapidly. It’s the most athletic part of me. My throat has a river, drip, drip, drip. It drives me forward, ‘round the bend.
My feet are big. My feet are smelly. They have been injured, but never broken. My body tries to kill me. It always fails.
*My body is warm, like a hug from an old friend after a long separation
*My body is an avocado….bumpy and misshapen but full of that good fat
*My body is soft, smooth to the touch yet deeply rooted with stretch marks
*My body is strong, muscle beneath the weathered surface
*My body tells a story: one of self-loathing, binging and purging
*My body is under construction, a work in progress….just like me
My skin glistens in the sun
Cocoa butter beads like dewy rain drops
The rivelets of moisture that run down my face are coconut oil in its purest form
My hair glistens in the sun
Black castor oil attracts light because i am a beacon of the sun
My legs reflect my determination, my strength, my stubborness.
My nails and hands show hard work and caring.
My body is me. And nobody can take that away from me.
My mind is a prison, bursting at the seams.
My heart is a leader, not other people.
My breasts don’t determine my sex appeal.
My hair carries the scents of my childhood, not something for you to touch but how i remember where I came from.
The hills and valleys of my body are as beautiful as mountains on a postcard.
My body is the first thing you see, notice the humor in my dark brown eyes, the determination in my chocolate skin, and the spirit in my hair.
“Get your hair out of your face, you are so beautiful, I want to see your face.”
“I wish I had hairlike yours, I’m so ugly”
My nana loves me in riddles. She carries photos of the kids hidden behind a photo of her younger self.
I drop my bag in my seat and cut through the classroom to spend time drawing heavy lines above my eyes and covering the heavy lines below my eyes.
I feel confident with white mascara, enough to stand against waves of insults.
I stop covering my lines and drawing new ones
I cut my hair
My smile is a new line that matches the curves of my 3 chins.
The wings in my lids are missing but would have disappeared regardless in the new found laugh lines.
The road I travel is ancient
An observer behind glass
Seeing stifling sand and raging flowers
A flower, on the side of my road.
Limping from wind, shining in the sun.
I continue to travel, but I look back.
I am that flower
I exist on the edge of a mighty land
Standing, limping, falling, anew.
My skin is pale as iceburg,
transparent at points-revealing the blue flow of water beneath
in the rivets of my veins.
My hips are broad and
wide like the smoothed, wind-blown
mass of ice.
My jaw is square, strong like two
Perfectly imperfect, but only shin-deep
So WORD? WORD?, so much below.
My ooay is a wildflower.. surviving the prairie fire.
Bright and strong and beautiful
Not to be plucked a fut in a jar, but to
My heart is a violin, gentle but sonorous
Able to move an entire crowd with a single note
The bow runs along my heartstrings
Making music heard to no one but me.