dear body

 

For so long I’ve abused you,

misused you,

poisoned you.

I didn’t trust you,

and I lost my right to listen to you.

You tried to teach me and tell me when things weren’t right,

But I kept infusing you with vices to make you silent.

I’ve broken you down by working you harder than you were meant to go–

Denying you food and water,

abusing chemicals to silence your begs for fuel.

I didn’t want to feel the soreness of my muscles telling me to rest,

Or the way you whispered to me to slow my steps.

I didn’t listen to your wisdom to just

listen to my breath

And find the wisdom hidden

between the inhalation

and exhalation that’s so intrinsic.

I sped the beating of your heart

To make the calories fall off

And keep you alert throughout the night,

to ward off anything that might

try to creep in unseen by light.

I squeezed you,

held you in hands so tight,

Tried to make you disappear behind

Bones that broke

because I didn’t give them enough:

I kept pushing you through five-mile runs

In shoes with holes that scraped my heels

Leaving blisters

–signs that maybe I should just heal.

Instead I kept pushing through

Thinking band-aids could confuse you;

I stifled your voice,

I didn’t listen when you told me you had enough,

When you didn’t give consent

for the stuff

I poured down my throat;

When you gagged and choked–

I just kept pouring more

To try to make you understand:

I couldn’t listen to your demands.

I numbed you with anything I could find

(Clear liquids were a good disguise);

Sometimes you didn’t know to fight

Until I’d already swallowed

and made the call

To blunt your shout to hear you out.

You wore the battle scars

On knees and teeth,

Trying to find some easy way

To deal with the pain.

“No pain, no gain”—

Indeed, I gained shame,

Collected words like “vain,”

Told I am the only one to blame.

 

Lord, I am drained.

 

I see my hands:

Hands that heal

The broken bones of other bodies

The bulging discs and radiculopathy

Hands that lend themselves

To fragile men

And women weak

From conceiving.

My feet have left

Footprints in sand,

And lands across the Atlantic;

My legs have marched

For things I believe:

Peace and freedom and equality.

 

How can I keep neglecting these?

 

I’ve watched you grow

So I know I can too.

I can learn to stop abusing you.

See your scars as proof I’m strong,

Fill your head with words and songs

That touch the spirit that you house.

For you are the thing that protects

The divine within me—

The universal intellect,

The love that connects.

 

Dear body, I’m learning to accept.