sunrise over swamps

sunset over melancholy seas

Poem 3 of 30

on April 4, 2013

This body was given to me by forces out of my control.

Gender, height, skin colour,

skeletal shape, and

the twist and curve of hair.

I couldn’t choose it. It formed itself over me

and around me,

This me that would be me

no matter the exterior.

None of us chose it, what we have;

oh, we choose what we do to it,

we abuse it, berate it,

tell it it’s not good enough.

I scream at this body,

“Why are you mine? Why couldn’t you be different? Better?”

Better, the word forms accusation and assumption

that there is an alternative.

As though I deserved to be granted a higher quality flesh,

as though under all the layers of skin and muscle and bone

we are not all exactly the same:

hurting, blood-filled, animated clay,

complex and physical.

Our souls bound to this earth, this realm of life,

by the material being: the flesh that encases and permeates our selves.

Why, then, do we behave as though the bodies that frame us

are somehow a question of righteousness?

Did anyone get the chance to tell their Creator,

“No, I cannot be this? Give me a body that will make me loved, make me approved by others!”

What we have is all we have.

In the end, it will be gone,

and who I am will be all that I am.

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3 responses to “Poem 3 of 30

  1. Rosie says:

    Yay for poem three. I am for sure going to obsessively stalk your writings on this here blog. It’s like reading a poetry book very slowly. I’m not good at reading slowly, so it’s fun to be slowed down. Let me know if my comments become irksome or cause you to feel pressured, though, and I’ll desist.

  2. Rosie says:

    This is just a comment to take advantage of the email notifications which I forgot to tick the first time.

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