Body Love, Pt. 2

I know I am because I said I am

I know I am because I said I am

I know I am because I said I am

My body is hard

My body is hard

I know I am because I said I am

I know I am because I said I am

I know I am because I said I am

Try this:

Take your hands over your bumpy love body naked

and remember the first time you touched someone

with the sole purpose of learning all of them.

Touch them because the light is pretty on them

and the dust and the sunlight dance the way your heart did.

Touch yourself with a purpose.

Your body is the most beautiful void.

Fathers and uncles are not claiming you knife anymore,

are not your razor, now put the sharpness back.

Lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin;

I once touched a tree with charred limbs.

The stumps were still breathing,

but the tops were just ashy remains;

I wonder what it's like to come back from that,

because sometimes I feel forest fires

erupting from my wrists,

and smoke signals sent out of the most beautiful things

I've ever seen.

Love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet,

and brother arm-wrapping shoulders,

and remember this is important.

You are worth more than who you fuck.

You are worth more that a waistline.

You are worth more than beer bottles displayed like artifacts You are worth more than any naked body could proclaim

in the shadows;

more than a man's wim or your father's mistake.

You are no less valuable as a size 16 than a size 4,

you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C.

Your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood.

You are a goddamned tree stump with leaves sprouting out.

Reborn.