Your body is a temple, a vessel to worship,
Pray and make offerings to.
But temples soon become ruins
When people neglect them
And move on.

My body isn’t a temple,
I don’t like that metaphor,
but if it was it would be a ruin
With scars and broken bones and stretch marks and blemishes.
I tend to neglect her, I don’t worship her often enough.
My body isn’t quite like a haunted house, but she does echo with
the touches of past loves and current interests.
She isn’t cursed, even though I have cursed at her for growing too much
or not enough.
She is a friend, most of the time.