A Letter Home

Thu, 10/26/2017 - 16:02 -- rlw23

Location

560017
India

I.

Today I ran a 5K

This body

my body

ran 3 miles

despite years of me feeling inadequate because of it.

My awkward muscular legs and soft stomach carried me to the finish line

and for that

I owe my body the world.

II.

Dear Body,

Dear beating heart,

dear blood rushing through my veins,

dear thighs

and stomach and

arms, dear every cell of my composition.

I’m Sorry.

For the past sixteen years, I have let myself be afraid of the only home I will ever truly have: but no more.

I apologize to my body for years of wishing it away

for wishing there be less of me

I have spent too long comparing myself to other women’s homes and seeing more beauty in theirs than my own.
Too long straightening

shrinking

tightening

and shaping my body’s unwavering existence.

Every second of every day my body works as the shell of my soul battling the elements of existence which unfortunately have included

myself

Why compare myself to other women when I was crafted by God and made in his very image When the world tells you that darkness equates to danger and that all princesses are white how can you not learn to believe that your blackness makes you ugly.

I apologize to my mental, for not mending its wounds the way I would apply aid to a cut or a bruise

I now know that healing is not linear and trauma runs deep.

I am allowed to take time to heal from men breaking through my doors and turning off my lights. Those who attempted  destroy my facade

with their bricks and fists

are not the extent of my existence

To the sadness that has cloaked me in darkness, for almost a decade

I apologize

for letting you bring me shame, as if my cranium is to fault, for the way I was made

I wish I had known you cannot carve sadness out of your wrist and air from your lungs.

I apologize to the relentless beat of my crimson heart, for ever attempting to silence it.

Dear little girl who’s home this used to be. I wish I could tell you that you can’t fuck the gay out. No matter how many kisses you give to men in the dark, your soul, your truth, will not die.

My body is a wildfire, for which no one can control, and for that

I am whole

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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