#bodyacceptance
We stand unrobed where daylight splits the air,
Her thighs a bramble, mine are smooth and spare.
The mirror's glare reveals what we both share:
One breast a plum, its twin a rounder pear.
Time’s cursive scrawls on skin we’ve learned to bare—
Her stretchmarks ripple, tides, my palms embrace.
No clues hide the faint silver in her hair—
My thumb traces the laugh-lines on her face.
Past phantoms fade—two clocks now beat as one.
Her skin, once chilled, now thaws beneath my sighs;
My stony silence ripens into sun;
Time-frozen hearts melt in each other's eyes.
Your mouth—a fig split ripe—now drinks my moan:
We fuse to one fierce sun, no dusk, no dawn.
Feb 8, 2025
Feb 8, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
this body isn't a temple
if anything it's a church that catholics have sworn is haunted
by years of whispers and catcalls and screams
it's a house that has never been truly beautiful or taken care of
with broken windows and scratched walls
that kids run away from and shudder while passing by it and wonder if anyone lives there
it's a mask that has been marked by an illness that's symbolised by masks
it was marked by commands that were never quite done
if it was a color it would be a dark old grey
if it was a sound it would be a weak quiet whimper
it's a source of fun when i used to be "up"
it's a source of fear any other time
it's something that i've been always told could never truly belong just to me
that i'm supposed to give it to someone, not too soon but not too late
but not to someone with curves and long hair and soft features and
if someone did get it first he would get forever because that's what was decided years ago so it has to true, right?
if anything it was always supposed to be ran by rules and lines that could never be crossed
if anything it's a word said years ago still stuck somewhere in my mind forcing itself closer to my thoughts, so i can remember it as if it's tattoed on my hand, with me every second
if anything it's a force that's constanly trying to be the most important but never can be, not quite
if anything it only ever works the way it was supposed to when the chemicals in my brain don't work the way they were supposed to
if anything it feels like it will never be worshipped, loved, adored how could it be when it's not a magnificent castle but an old house that's falling apart
if anything it feels like it doesn't deserve to be good so it's not
if anything it's like a meeting so bad that i don't ever want to leave, a conversation so bad i don't ever want to really end it, a material so bad that i won't ever completely rip it
if anything, it's mine
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
I don't love my body.
I don't love the curls on my head,
the way they become frizzy at the drop of a hat.
The way they get in the way when I do my dishes.
The way that they have a mind of their own in the morning.
You call me 'curly sue'.
You pull on my brown ringlets and smile when they bounce back into place.
You like the way my curls smell when I get out of the shower.
I don't love my body.
My *******
The way the hang from my chest like sandbags.
The way they restrict me from buying the clothes I like.
You named them.
Alessa and Alexis.
The way a little girl names the dolls that she loves so much.
Desire flashes in your eyes when I take off my shirt.
I don't love my body.
The first time you saw me naked
I wrapped my arms around my tummy
so that you couldn't see my belly.
You grabbed my arms and put them by my side,
and smirked
and said "beautiful".
I never hid myself from you again.
I don't love my body.
I hate the way my sides roll when I move.
You came home from practice,
bruised and bloodied.
You told me that your friend
tackled you to the ground
and you saw your life flash before your eyes;
you said
that my **** body
was the last thing you saw
before you momentarily blacked out.
I don't love my body.
I hate it.
I look in the mirror and see the most pathetic pile of
flesh, fat, muscle, bone and hair
that ever lived on this earth.
I waited so long to share it with another,
because I thought that this body,
this vessel,
was not worthy of appreciation.
You look at me the way a starving child looks at a five course meal.
You touch me like a homeless man sleeping on Egyptian cotton sheets
for the first time.
I don't love my body.
But the way you love my body,
the way you love my lumps and bumps and scars and flesh,
gives me hope that some day soon
I could grow to love it as well.
You make me feel things that I never thought I deserved to feel.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC