I feel my body
I know my body
And I wonder how I could starve something someone already died for.
I’ve been learning to listen to the pit of my stomach
and the buds in my mouth
since leaving the hospital two years ago
My emotions speak to me through my hips and maybe
for the first time this morning
I didn’t let my head get in the way of the two communing with one another.
I’ve never not felt shame around sex.
Around pleasure
around my curves in general
(Or anyone’s for that matter.)
Even as I write this my face burns red and sizzles
like each time I look at my thighs and see
new fat
my eyes want to crucify but my soul wants to fight for.
When can we stop believing that women were created
to please a man’s ribs
before our own?
To feed ourselves
and love the hearts that reside in our
breasts
no matter the size
I’m 27
And each day I’m out of the country whose T.V. punctured my intuition to the point of deflation
and hid the instruction manual to every one of my God-given reset buttons—
I feel free
And I don’t know what to do with it.
fear
has no place in the kingdom of God and
I think it’s time I start acting like an heir.