This Body Is Not a Problem to be Fixed

This body is an ancient galactic explosion –

composed of hydrogen, flesh, carbon,

superannuated stars,

grit

and sweat

and tenderness.

This body shared ten and a half months with God.

It held a small forming creature within my womb

while the rest of me strategized, yielded and fought

to find safe space in an erratically violent relationship

to bring new life into the world.

This body has said “NO” with the force of all of my women folk ancestors.

We will

NO LONGER.

take.

this.

abuse.

This body is sinewy-strong, sensuous, fierce

and holds a wild warrior within

who is owned by no man

and proudly calls herself She.

She

is soft as the sycamore-fuzz

mixed with spider-web wonder that lines a hummingbird’s nest.

She can expand in every direction

to hold the most vulnerable among us.

The lines across my belly,

hips and breasts,

mark where I have stretched beyond my previously held capacity

to make room to love another….

The round of my belly,

the wide curve of my thighs,

the small dimples that form across my legs as I sit,

the pliant parts that shift and shake as I move –

This is the surface of an animal that loves with the steadiness of mountain.

These eyes gaze into the bottomless center of another and mine the magic

waiting to finally be seen.

This is the temple that holds the ten thousand stories of heartache,

hope, grief, revelry, loss, secret longing and life-sized desire.

I see you with this body. I feel you with this skin.

These are the hands

that daily become more trustworthy.

This body knows the betrayal of palms and fingers that don’t ask

that force,

demand,

correct,

violate and take.

THIS body, this temple, this sanctuary for the weary of heart –

This is NO LONGER shame’s resting place.

This Body,

MY body,

Is NOT a Problem to be Fixed.

With flesh that fits neatly into no racial category – that is caramel brown in the summer and olive yellow in winter and regularly asked “what are you?”

This flesh belongs to no one, to no tribe, to myself alone, to everyone all at once.

The color of my skin will no longer determine whether or not I belong.

This body is a Celebration

I love you.

I free you to walk, swim, shake, convulse,

dance, stretch,

spread-the-fuck-out

with unabashed ecstasy and joy.

It’s ok to be scared dear one.

Your power is frightening and righteous.

Regardless of the numbers on the scale,

the size on a tag or the inches on a tailor’s ruler

Regardless of how firm or supple,

this body is home.

I welcome you here.

I have arrived.

I intend to stay in occupation.

~ © artemisia shine
February 2018