I was raised to think my body a temple, treat my body as blessing. Taught by elders that I am testament to truth,told no man should lie on me or with me. I was convinced to believe I am light Luminous and far too bright for glare to be handledTrained to think and be something men simply handle. Enough repetition of this Enough practice and broken promises Enough precaution,and soonyour body will truly  Be temple. Be steadfast ready Be still and groundedBody be temple and grounded and ready, but body will not go many places You've learned to treasure. Forget chest and trove, You are gold. Yet the remnants of silver drips from his lips,malignantand everywhere.And he told you to be templeto only turn tables and make you mere dilapidated lesson he will not even have the decency to learn from. And I know you thought foundation would be safe haven,would be enough to keep him coming back. But tourists have always loved travel Passionately basking in the beauty of spread out places. So although you may be gold and temple he is not Midas. not even close to kingdom in the slightest,would not have royalty nor crown if Elizabeth had birthed him herself. So he burns down temple until you are Nothing but billowing ashWalls decimated and roof caved in, left slave to construction. Foolish in belief when destruction was all but written on his forehead and hurt was all but cut into your forearm.Slitted wrists to compensate for pain he treated as invisible ink so you would think necessary to etch intoskin like, like lies that never explained themselves, like knives that know not of what they do, like forefathers and gender norms That make me feel like I gotta be temple to be something. Like if you burn me down I must be woman enough To wait in patience for the next man to build me up. The only trouble is fire is infinite,and from birth I'm subconsciously told to be temple and temporary, always with intentions to be burned. Scolded for wanting more. Folded over to fit into convenient places. So he may be fire, spreading,always dependent on smoke from ashes to blow up his ego. And he may hold all the matches in the worldand know all the ways to make women feel vulnerable. But I am forest. Deeply rooted and a symphony of canopiesand animalsand rain to wash away any pain you left as residue. Any remains that show you came and left at all. I possess water falls and ponds and branches that speak for themselves as they hang, supporting green leaves that whisper sweet nothings as I sleep.  I have history,forest fires that came to commit extinction, flames that tried and failed to make a commitment. Fire wrapped around my trees as bark turned to whimpers and my soil attempted forgiveness because I know what a stranger perfection can be. I never promised immaculate lilies or flawless flowers, only committed to constant growth.Obligated to rise from ashes like the Phoenix,  like a woman who knows her worth.  Like no temple ever will.   *This past year was one of realization for me: for my sexuality, for my womanhood, and for my power and capabilities.*