Some days it's going to hurt
Its going to feel like my body is a stiff, unforgiving cocoon
And my vibrant colors are trapped deep inside and aching
Some days my bed feels like a cage of comfort
Self soothing but at the cost of others
I **** on a pacifier at night sometimes
Dipped in honey
So I can just barely connect with my cousins
Maybe tomorrow I'll fly with them

Sometimes I get real sad
That I don't have hard edges, and defining lines
I have dimples and ripples
Covered in marks and scars and hair
Take refuge in a branch that appreciates me
Enveloped from the sun
Barely audible whispers through growing tangling veins
Saying I'm enough
But others think I haven't hatched yet
That I have work to do
A droplet catches
I'm sensitive

Sometimes I understand it deeply
as deep as I'm inside myself
Other days I fantasize about breaking out
Vibrantly, with elegance
But at the end of the day
Beauty, and what that means
Isn't exclusively me
or you
There's no right way
Or wrong
I'm not a project
Or an unfinished song
At the end of the day
Its every single piece

And when it comes to yours, someone sees

Eyes
reflect love and laughter, create a window for the world to view a beautiful soul, perceive so much light, see the vivid brightness of everything around
          but what I choose to focus on is how they barely function without corrective lenses, the color of the iris is too bland, and they allow too many tears to fall.

Hands
sweep away tears softly, give love the opportunity to be tangible, rest upon a friend's back to support, sweep across the ivory to make emotions audible
          but what I choose to focus on is how they shake when in social situations, the lack of length in the fingers, and the obvious absence of another hand to hold.

Legs
support my whole structure, provide transportation for adventures, serve as a resting place for his weary head, function each day without conscious effort
          but what I choose to focus on is how angry red stretch marks line the skin, the way my fat calves get stuck in jeans, when they fail to endure the miles to run.

my body and i,
we do not always
get along.
our relationship,
like that of an old married couple.
an old married couple who got married a little too young,
too unprepared,
too wild.

a couple that's been together way too long,
so long that, now
we could not be with anyone else.
we don't know how to
and anyway, we have the same friends.

my body and i,
we fight a lot.
years upon years of arguments,
betrayals.
too many feelings have been hurt.
i'm not sure if there is even any trust left,
both equally as guilty as the other.


but there's still love there, somewhere,
deep down
and every now and again that goodness will appear,
hidden within the little things;
leaving meals out for each other,
tucking the other into bed after a long day
warm showers.
small moments of love

we stay together.

this body has always felt more like a prison than a sanctuary but a life sentence beneath my skin seems less daunting since you've come around

Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.