Hey Girly.

Gosh. We’re going through some changes, aren’t we? It wasn’t too long ago that we could drink black coffee on an empty stomach, or devour countless Jack-in-the-Box tacos, or say “yes” to shooting tequila at midnight for the sake of shooting tequila at midnight. Nowadays we don’t even want to do those things because nowadays we respect our GI tract. We also never compromise on sleep. In fact, speaking of sleep, aren’t you glad we finally did that sleep study last year? I swear, I can’t even remember how it felt to sleep without our C-PAP machine. We may look like a cyborg, but at least we sleep like the dead.

Remember when the first gray hairs on our head appeared a decade ago? I’ll admit it: I was scared. We were only 26 and I didn’t realize gray hairs grew in that early. Moving our part from left to right helped for a while, but I think we ultimately did the right thing by going blonde.

26 was a big year, wasn’t it? We lost all that weight with those awful Jenny Craig meals, and everyone showered us with praise. Our calves and arms were sticklike, and our muscles disappeared, but we were told it was a good thing that we could squeeze into an extra small. Remember how some of the meals didn’t require being frozen? All we had to do was cut open the plastic pouch and squeeze lunch onto a plate. I swear, for the rest of our lives, I will never do that to us again.

Listen. I took us to that stupid clinic because I was convinced we weren’t good enough. I just…I had just had enough of people referring to us as “curvy” in a tone that made it obvious they were thinking of a different word. I was tired of feeling mom’s eyes on us every time our stomach spilled over our jeans. I was tired of dad’s jokes about the span of our hips, and I was tired–so tired—of being made to feel defective. This was 10 years ago, before anyone talked about “body positivity” or “self-love.” This was before brave souls stood up and said, “I’m fat and sexy and proud.” This was before I knew that loving myself—loving us—meant a heck of a lot more than shopping sprees and occasional massages. I had to learn to love us. I’m sorry I learned the hard way.

I’ll admit that for a little while, it felt exciting watching the number on the scale decrease. Every time it happened, I felt like we gained another degree of acceptability. 10 more pounds and mom will stop it with her looks. 15 more pounds and dad will quit it with the jokes. 20 more pounds and oh my gosh, we might actually be “pretty.” Of course, “pretty” didn’t quiet the voices inside that insisted we were still “defective.” No diet, however restrictive, was going to do that.

I remember when we hit our goal weight and officially entered the “maintenance phase”—a completely unrealistic part of the program where we were supposed to go back to eating real food without gaining back any weight. Hah. It took no time at all before that number on the scale crept back up. I remember the Jenny Craig employee looking at us with mild, but perceivable shock and disappointment. I yelled, “But I eat healthy!” What I wanted to say—and perhaps, what I should have said—was, “I love eating real food and I think I look just fine.”

We never officially quit Jenny Craig, but we also never went back after that appointment. After months of casual starvation, I wasn’t going to devote an hour of our precious weekends to recounting every single indulgence to a woman holding a clipboard. The whole thing ended quietly, and then the real work began: the real work of loving you, no matter what other people said.

I love that we gained the weight back. I love that we found a therapist. I loved when we joined that gym and learned how to throw around a kettlebell. I loved stepping out of the shower that one day and catching how swollen and shapely our biceps looked after months of training and eating right. I love that we’re no longer sticklike. I love that we are strong.

And poof, we’re 36. Our gray hairs are more abundant. The lines on our forehead are more pronounced. Our curves are softer, our skin is thinner, and the tequila bottle usually goes untouched. We are going through some changes, and I am so grateful to have you with me for the ride.

I love you.

Used abused and cut through,
The story of the body is beyond words.
Growing and evolving to its highest
Always flowing through the moment.
Left with an ugly rip in the gut,
From never getting enough.
craving,
Saving,
Until the very last breath/

falling in and out of touch with the truth.
My body hurts
My body loves
My body is enough’
\
/
To my body..
I love you but i hate you
Why did you think of what could’ve never been..
You rose from the grave with lotus petals touching your face , ALL TO JUST STAY THE SAME?..

This was never your destiny, to be gone in a day.
How things can change,
One day you wake up and things are not the same.
Your a masterpiece, with cuts in your veins
Building a structure of novocaine.

How can things ever be the SAME?

If only we Knew what the future held…
But after a hurricane there does come a rainbow,
Thats so bright even the night didn’t know how to shine its own light. Beaten and cut loose…

YOU have always been the one that got me through.

My body, your body..

It was all just the same…

Listening to a thought that pierces your own brain.

That you’re not good enough, a question that resurfaces from the dust…

But you will always be the one that shines the way..

Or the thing that gets in my way..
Of making a change..
Or so I say..
But the truth lies deeper than just the surface..

The body can convey a marvelous snapshot of outward circumstance.
All the jumbled incoming information from the world,
Sorted through within us via entry our fingertips,
Our wandering eyes, our fiery nostrils, perky ears, and flirty tongues.
Whole experiences broken down, and their pieces subtly absorbed,
So that they can be reassembled in a space within our minds,
Or is it a place above our minds?

Nevertheless, the pieces sort themselves into pictures,
That come together frame by frame to form “whole experiences,”
Our own little movies in real time.
What’s more, I can
Feel
Everything

Indeed, the so-called cinema of my life.
I wouldn’t dare to call myself the main character,
For I know that much of life occurs in the third person perspective.
This life won’t allow you to forget that there are others living it with you,
So sometimes I play the side character in the background of other’s
Achievements, heartbreaks, and upgrades.

However, unlike in the movies,
The personhood of the side character doesn’t just cease to exist
In the luminous gleam of the person who’s more saturated in life’s thrills.
In certain moments, I too feel the limelight,
Like an internal compass directing my attention.
It’s not something I can mask either,
For the body often knows before I do.

Then, suddenly I’m met with the reality of the world outside
And the world inside of me.
And as often as they work in harmony,
They also sometimes don’t agree.

And as often as they work in harmony:

Yeah, the sweets of life are as tasty to the eyes
As they are to the tongue.
And every vertebrae in my spine moves
In a consecutive, synchronist fashion,
Conveying an embodiment of satisfaction.

I beg: share this masterpiece with me.
Touch me there on the small of my back,
And let your arms embrace me
I start to feel my body go slack, my heart beats with ease
And…man

Am I pulling you closer or are you pulling me?
Then, my nose starts to reach back to the top of my forehead
And I’m smiling into the smell of an atmosphere created by me and you.
The pads of my toes melt into the ground,
And my heels lift me up into an otherworldly celebration of body and soul.

I fall through ephemeral moment into lasting experience,
Except it feels less like a terrifying descent
And more like an ongoing embrace.

White clouds with the softness of giggles caress me.
Their delicate pecks graze the concave between my hips and just beneath my bust.
With the invincibility of water and the tenderness of flower petals,
They trace the curve in my legs, spine, and neck.
On the surface, my skin glistens in synchrony with the beat of a cinematic climax.

The comfortable fall to a jagged top with a dangerous descent
Prickles the sensitive places on my skin.
But, it’s the strangest thing:
because once it starts, I’ve no idea where and how it began
I have no idea what exactly it is I’m experiencing.
I’m familiar with this sensation though,
This feeling of falling uncontrollably.

Instantly, I’ve violently tumbled out of a scene of fantastical triumph,
Pictured in the perfectly entwined bodies of mind and soul,
And the social and intrapersonal,

And I’ve left behind my tittering clouds
As I crash through a barrier that escapes my grasp,
But it’s as cold as the silence after a well considered thought,
And it suffocates like my doubts that resurface uninvitedly.
It wrecks my body.

I’ve been here before.
I swear I’ve been here before.
And yet, my heart beats ferociously,
Banging against the restrictions of my ribcage
With the rhythm of a runner trying to escape from me.

Then my breath is taken captive and proceeds
Out of sync with the nervous shaking of my leg.
Suddenly, I’m too big and I’m taking up too much space.
A blood red spot light highlighting the individual performances of my limbs
Settles upon me, and suddenly I’m not a complete person.

I’m in pieces.

My body is wrecked, but I’m here.
Safely hidden behind this veil of courtesy,
But I’m here.
Behind this watery and impenetrable wall.
But I’m here.

And they are there.

Apology teases my lips
As the vile unseemingly rises up my throat,
My throat which burns like the fire that blazes on
Hot from the lies that keep our interpersonal relationships alive.

I taste the bitter heaviness of truth and blatant discomfort on my tongue,
But my lips are only stained with the sweet exchanges
Lacking the audacity to inconvenience and stir up the formalities of life.

The tint on my lips washes over the rest of my body.
It fills my ears to where I can’t hear actual words,
But can only fill in the sentences with conventional guesses.
My chest stains blue as I’m so desperately holding back the breath
I wish to set free
Though I fear my thoughts will chase the wind.

The stiffness in the air carries over into the stiffness of my red arms and fingers,
And oh, how my tailbone extends into the ground
As if I can root myself in this moment
But also fade into the background as the limelight wishfully gets smaller and smaller.

Momentarily, I’ve convinced myself that I can overcome this internal compass,
If I can pour myself out, unbeknownst to the world,
Into a box that keeps the heaviness off my tongue and neatly in the shadows,
So that I can then be filled with the plot lines of those around me.

I tame this body and its desire to escape,
And I sync my rebellious body to the experience at hand.

But, I mess up somewhere in the process of restraint.

The body often knows before I do.

And on the off chance,
Someone casts a set of flash-lit eyes to that shaking leg of mine.
And the words catapult like a life raft in the deep end:
“Are you okay?”

Body, STOP!!
Why did you betray me?

Then, suddenly I’m met with the reality of the world outside
And the world inside of me.
And as often as they work in harmony,
They also sometimes don’t agree.

They sometimes don’t agree,
But I also can force them to be
Because I’m too scared to make them stand feet to feet,
And therefore be face to face with the truth and weakness inside of me.

Am I okay?
Well, I guess sometimes I just have to be.
After all, life isn’t actually a movie,
And I can’t just skip to the next scene.
So, isn’t it better to skip the bothersome irregularities
In order to stick to social routines?

Well, I certainly thought my body would agree.
But, unfortunately my body has betrayed me.
And it has decided to instead push me toward honesty.

I stand naked in a mirror and what do I see … I see a warrior Queen.

You may see titties that don’t sit as high as the used to,
but these breasts have fed the next generation
so show respect and give them there due veneration.

You may see stretch marks snaking my tummy
but these markings they tell a story….
Every mark is a battle scar that screams out
that I am a bearer of life.
I am woman and I am proud
I’ll never drop this crown.

I am where the river begins,
I am the source.
A force to be reconned with.

Resilient as ever. Give up never.

Overflowing with strength and soul
I am a beautiful sight to behold.

It took me a lifetime to get here and see this truth,
People tried to drag me down
and make me confused.

And for a while it worked.
I didn’t know my worth.
But I tapped into a level of inner strength
That I didn’t know I possessed.
I ate the plate of self respect
That I refused to partake of in the past

I’m eating now and I’m filled up.
Anorexic no more I digest Love

Scarf down joy by the handful.
I never miss a meal now
I honestly can say
I can’t remember how

I drink with intention
With purpose and determination
My cup is always filled up with heaps of motivation

Surrounding myself with good vibes
and positive energy
My self awareness thrives
as I strive to be a better me

Rub shoulders with those whose
values align with mine
I refuse to waste anymore time

So I stand in this mirror
gazing upon royalty
my heart swells with pride…

What a journey

To my body:
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for everything
I’m sorry for being ashamed of you
I’m sorry for not trusting you
I’m sorry for putting you through hell
I’m sorry for holding you to the ridiculous standards of modern society

You were screaming
You were screaming at me to stop
You were screaming for more nourishment
You were screaming, crying for me to love you
But I couldn’t hear you
My ears were clogged with bullshit “goals”, with deep seeded hatred

I’m sorry for hating you
You didn’t deserve it
You don’t deserve it

You’ve put up with a lot
You put up with my stupid vices, yet
You make sure my vitals stay level
You’ve helped me truly understand balance
You’ve grown stronger
You’ve allowed my mind to open, to soften

And now I’m scared

I’m scared my hatred was too strong
I’m scared the damage is irreversible
I’m scared I’ve hindered your full potential
I’m scared as the thoughts come creeping back in and
I’m scared they’ll never stop
I’m scared and I wonder if you’re scared, too

I can’t say I’d blame you – but if you’ll have me – we can do this

Please give me one more chance
Please know that I’ll never go back
Please accept my apology, my unconditional love
Please relax, unwind, allow for this miracle
Please
I’m sorry
I’m ready

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
I’m trying to love you
because I’ve hurt you enough

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
I’m trying to love you
because you tried so hard to fight him off

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
I’m trying to love you
because you still opened for love

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
I’m trying to love you
because you made my baby

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
I’m trying to love you
because you feed my son

I am trying to love you
I will try to love you
And I will love you
the way you are.

Barbie doesn’t get the privilege of being fresh-faced
Like Dove models or Alicia Keys
Her makeup must be removed with paint thinner and endless scrubbing
My makeup can be removed with soap and water
But the standard of beauty that was stamped on my inner adolescent
Is an indelible mark that no amount of cleaner can remove
When did I grow such a self-hatred that to
View my own reflection repulsed me?
When did I decide my beauty was no beauty at all
Rather an image needing to be stamped out
Covered with concealer
Layered with lipstick
Marked with mascara
To the point, I don’t recognize me?
“Black is beautiful” was the saying in the 1960s
Yet in the 2000s Black was disgraceful
Black was sinful
Black was not desirable
How will my daughter know her own beauty?
Sometimes I wonder if her acceptance of self
Will be based on her fair skin
Her softer features —
Her DNA reveals she has more African American
Heritage than her dark-skinned mother
Yet to see her from a distance one would not believe
Such a genetic declaration
Beauty in America is fleeting and deceiving
Slender hips slender lips
Fair skin straight hair
When will my full hips lips
Wide nostrils be the beauty mark
That overshadows our Marilyn Monroes
And our Taylor Swifts
Our Ellie Gouldings and our Goldie Hawns?
When will I know, as I peer into a mirror ,
That my Black is truly beautiful?

We live in the present through connection and pathways of our bodies.
The sustainability it seeks and provides simultaneously equal magical miracles: us, and me.
Our bodies as an earth, the roots spreading below the ground, growing into strong Sequoias listening.
Our bodies are water flowing, splashing love over walls and edges created without to help our flow. Our bodies are one, we are one, and yet one in our own bodies. The earth is our mother.
My body holding my head up, view ahead, surpassing struggles, hugging peaceful flowers of rolling hills and little critters the scatter about, the winds carry new adventures, and our bodies feel the air. Our bodies and my body.
My body is aging towards the dead.
Because we all die, we exit to another world.
So dwell on today. So be in today. Jump for today. Play. Pray and sway safely.
My body.
I am present, breathing, my veins pumping blood, my neurotransmitters zapping, resting and guiding me through many emotional spots of expression, suppression, and identification and providing me with abilities that can encompass possibilities, silence, and space. My body, our body motions us in all ways: spiritually, mentally, and physically.
the galaxy of being alive – the sun, the stars, the ocean blue, the vastness of land, open to us as we open to it.
Saunter and spread out and over through these pathways in generosity.

Dear Body,

I’ve been told by therapy,
To write to my personality.
After all, “you’re just a shell,”
A shell for my inner hell
but they never spoke of that fact,
So, instead I’m writing to my outer contact

Dear Body,
This is really more of an apology.
Dear Body,
I know it was wrong to fill your head with lies;
When I told you to be smaller
That it didn’t matter if you died.
I’m sorry I decorated you with scars and blood and pain,
Instead of earrings, make-up and gold stain.
I’m sorry for throwing you at walls
Hoping it would make your heart stall
I’m sorry for locking doors
So no one would witness you on the floor.
I’m sorry for banging your head on doors and glass
I mean, anyone would see that as crass.
I’m sorry for shoving my fingers down your throat,
All because I couldn’t cope.
I’m sorry for the hours spent in front of a toilet
Sitting in front of bile after nothing was left.
I’m sorry for the reason you can’t use a straw
Because it made your throat raw.
I’m sorry for that drawer I never should have let stay
Of knives, scissors and razors to make the pain go away.
I’m sorry for letting your mouth lie,
To tell everyone you didn’t want to die.
I’m sorry you had to tell your sibling:
“No, mom threw out the hand soap”
(not because you chugged it in hope of a killing).
I’m sorry you couldn’t change in front of friends
Because of the scars under your jeans.
I’m sorry I told you that you were worthless,
To shrink to let go of stress.
I’m sorry you felt alone
Because you’re hell was at home.
I’m sorry I made you pull over on the side of the road
To bring up the elements of energy
(or so I was told).
I’m sorry no one knew of your attempts
Not friends, family, or even therapists
I’m sorry that it was one, two and three
And all because you wanted to be free.
I’m sorry you can’t look in the mirror
Because what you see, you might fear.
I’m sorry you told everyone that lie:
“I’m fine.”
I’m sorry you woke up in the middle of the night
Because the only person you would ever fight
Is in your head,
And it wanted you dead.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

But remember
Those scars are burns from the cafe you worked at!
The reason your throat closes when stressed
Has nothing to do with the bathroom and the thought of being fat.
Remember!
That red stain is ketchup on your mattress!
Straws are too expensive,
Remember!
You like soap bars more than hand soap, it’s a texture thing,
Remember!
You simply don’t have time to look in the mirror
You would if you had time or if you tried!

But, what color are your eyes?
Well body, that’s it, that’s my apology,
I’m sorry.

Dear Body,
I spent time with you today. Real, intentional time. I usually spend so often residing upstairs in Mind I couldn’t tell you the last time I came down to visit. We cried today, Body. We laughed, too. Funny, isn’t it, how similar the sounds of laughing and crying are? The clenched stomach. The gasping breath. The eyes pinched shut. The relief that follows. I immersed you in cold water today, Body. Let you sink down far enough for the water to come up over our ears. You told me that these are the sounds you remember from the womb. The muffled outside world. The intensified sounds of inside of our own being. So attune to the sound of our breath and heartbeat- increased to crystal
Clear frequencies. The weightlessness. The splashing. Since the water was so cold, though, Body, the upstairs brighter, Mind, thought we were dying! She was screaming up a storm- increased our heart rate and set off the fire alarms of flight response and everything! But you stayed put, Body. You didn’t give in to her fearful false alarms. You breathed. You calmed. And we smiled. You shook, too, Body. Ferociously. But in that shaking, I could feel you shedding internal layers. Energy and trauma and memories that have been clung to your bones for years. Decades, even. Untouched and gotten a little too comfortable hiding down there sucking the life out of you. So we shook. And we breathed. And we laughed. And we cried.
When we emerged from the water, Body, I observed you in the mirror. Gently and unjudgingly just noticing you. I apologized to the parts of you that have been hurt and abused- taken from you and taken advantage of. I thanked the parts that produce, provide and propel. I noticed how when your skin is wet from the water, you sparkle, Body. Glimmer in those beads of liquid as if infused with magic. I looked into your green eyes, Body, and I said without saying: “I’m sorry. And I love you.” Your chin quivered and your brow furrowed as liquid filled those places, too. Your eyes always did get even more lusciously green when you cried. Beautiful. Soft. A hardened sweetness. I like you, Body. And I’m going to visit more often. Now, get some rest. I’m proud of you.
Love, Emma

Look in the mirror, what do I see? I horrid reflection of a person not free.
Free to feel sexy, free to feel safe, free to be happy, free to be me.
How did I get here? This person isn’t me, the reflection in the mirror made myself an absentee.
Eat till I’m full, usually even more. Fill the void with food until I’m sick to my core.
What do people think? do they laugh at me? do they whisper to each-other “look at that fatty.”
Go to bed, wake up, get dressed & ready. self-Check in the mirror, another reflection of misery.