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