Okay, y'all. So, it's time. For real. I need to get my butt in gear and write actual words on an actual page. So there will be 30 days of writing.
For real. I'm not even kidding a little bit. You have my permission to kick me if I am not writing.
Here is day one.
Some days I wear my body like broken glass.
Crumbled shatterings create
splintered mosaics inside this frame and I
thank god for the ways gravity
and bones hold my undoing together.
And some days
I wear my body like thunderstorm.
The oppressive weight of cloud hangs over my chest and rips
thunder through me -
there is danger
in the way I wear this rippling creation of a being.
I wear this body heavy the way
carrying a river is heavy:
it is beautiful
and deep as it silently
erodes its own
And some days --some days
I remember this body is not
a thing to be worn.
Not burden, not bruise,
not load to contend with.
This body is not
pieces glued together forming this
heart-full being of human.
See - a tree does not wear herself differently
because the wind has blown.
Does not shame herself when
lightning scars her skin,
when seasons leave her bare,
when insects bore her leaves --
she lives her physical body without