Can I write something for future me ? Because I know he’s be so proud of what current me, is currently doing.

Undoing 10 years of an identity, that was never meant for me.

Preparing the path to intersect with him, and finding healthy ways to cope mentally

Especially, since they did him kind of dirty

It’s never to late to start over.
Even if your thirty

It may seem a little scary
No, it’s terrifying

a leech in my mind slowly sapping away at times-
that should be spent living…
Sorry I gotta focus on surviving,

But first, I need to get out of bed. I’ve been trying to convince every piece of me to talk again,
no part of me ever grieved the fact that I had to learn how to walk again

Extremely well taken care of body, sold my soul for employment,
22 years old a broken vertebrae on deployment?

Came back to the states and didn’t know that I was in for the change of my life,
for the next four months, I was forboding going under the knife.

“But I’m 22, I’m in incredible shape,”

“I’m sure you are son, but you see this x ray? This is a clear break”

“You made a mistake, it was just some discomfort , I only felt a pinch”

Dr said, “I can tell you’re upset I’m gonna give you a bit. “

There I sat, main character to my own horror movie, blood became curdling

The words escaped my lips like death row inmates –
“I’m getting surgery”

There I lay, a husk of my former self ,

my right thumb begging the vicodin to drip faster, no wonder this is controlled.
I cried as soon as the nurse left, I’m 22 years old.

Could barley take care of my self ,
I wouldn’t have ate if my boy chav never came,
I felt so embarrassed to use a walker, only a little lesser with a cane.

But day by day , I did my best to get stronger , those slow painful walks would ease and become longer.

I was really worried that I’d never be able to swing a bat again,
To strengthen my back ,
I first needed to strengthen my glutes, hips, and abdomen .

Everyday after work, I’d do a light jog, yoga, then mobility,
trying to stifle the disdain of my depleted ability,

Before I was poetic, I found solace in athletics,
55 yard throws, home runs over 350, 4.7 forty, benching 250,
33 inch vert…
all that stuff went away when I got hurt.

I gained a bunch of weight lost all my range of motion ,
I was willing to do black magick take an elixir or a potion.

But, one day by the ocean,

Feet in the sand, and my head in my hands, I realized …
I had to love my body because for everything it went through,
it still lets me stand.
Now as a man,

I realize I’ll never be in the same shape I was when I was 21,

don’t need to be a good athlete anymore, just do my job and play with my son.

Perhaps no one will ever see this note to you
As I so often hoped no one would ever notice you in the past
Perhaps someone will
And maybe we will no longer be afraid to share their glance
For the shame we carried for years
Buried under the weight of all of our insecurities, negative beliefs
Our doubts
And our fears
They suffocated us
Made us feel inferior, weak, unreliable, not beautiful
They caused us to shed so many tears

My body,
My dear body,
You have carried me through hardship
You have carried me through pain
You have carried me through trauma that made us feel like we may never be safe again

Yet here you stand
Stronger, healthier, lighter than ever
And not in weight or measurement
But in essence and spirit
You gleam with beauty
You shine with ease
You lifted away the darkness that consumed you
And walked away from the potential for dis-ease

You are a warrior of Earthly proportions
Carrying your heart and your mind on your sleeve
You are mighty and strong
You are supple and sweet

But most importantly,
You are the house that was built to carry me

And what a treasure that must be
To walk and wonder these lonely streets of life
Carrying a soul
A mind
A collection of memories
An entire galaxy all within one physical frame of a singular lifetime

My body, you are mine
And I am so thankful for your presence and your time

How good it feels
To feel you
To be acquainted
To know

After all the years
Of stuffing, binging, mindlessly
Eating to fill the void

One that wasn’t yours
Misplaced by mere inches
A calling uncomfortable

Different than yours
But so foreign to understand
No patience to learn

Until one day
The void is still lingering
Still cataclysmic
And the belly is full beyond recognition

Then the journey begins
Inward, downward
Exploration of emotions
Contemplations of beliefs

A realization it wasn’t your voice
Your call to be fulfilled
Your request to be known

Rooting up and out
Digging deep into
The garden of the heat

To reveal the pain
The judgements
The misguided love

That was so graciously covered,
Buried, tempered down
With copious amounts of food

The unearthing isn’t pleasant
It smells of rot & distant memories
It tastes of acid & forgotten truths
It feels unyielding & unending
Regardless of the discoveries
Our tracks are well worn habits
And the pursuit of healthy
Drives new uncomfortable
Ways of being

That sometimes receive that
Old poisonous medicine
Of food to quiet the symptoms

Slowly it changes
More quickly the distinction is made
With new knowledge & insight
There is hope
And there has been & certainly is
Progress

Now the option for partnership
A radical dedication to self-love
Requirement for the healthiest
In order to do the work, serve
The purpose

My dear body,

You are my home, my wife, my life.

The mistress that sleeps in me too,
Will someday go with all her plights.

Her words of insanity, and her thoughts
that hate on you, my home, my wife, my life

Will come and go till I find it in me to no longer need
That mistress that sleeps

She is cunning and evil

Telling me my body is a beautiful as a crack house
Telling me I am not womanly enough because of my size
Telling me I do not deserve to eat
Telling me to punch myself
She is cunning and evil

She is the mistress that sleeps so I can be the wife that won’t second guess what she says

~

My dear bones
They have caused me no trouble

My eyes
They are mine

My skin
Soft Soft Soft they say

My nose
Perfect
Never Changed
Always Stayed With Me

My scars
Protect the cells that could have killed me

My back
I was embarrassed of you
Now I flex you in the mirror

~

My dear body––with all it’s dots and marks and lines and wrinkles and hair––you have stayed with me and hung on even when I hit you or made you bleed or made you bruise

You heal me even when I do not want you too

My dear brain is trying every damn day to erase the bad thoughts and race to the good ones; my damn brain deserves an award; my damn body deserves an award

Dear body: you are more of a friend to me, than I have been to you. Thank you.

I’m sorry. Or maybe,
thank you.
(They can mean the same thing.)
Thank you for not failing me, when I’ve failed you, and will fail you again. Sorry for what I needed, for how much you gave. No matter what I did to you, you remained what you are.
Which is a perfect machine. Which is a miracle.
Let me say what I really mean. We’ve known each other long enough, there’s no reason to be shy, but still, sometimes I can hardly stand to be alone with you. Sometimes I can’t look at you, don’t know you at all.
You remained what you are, which is beautiful. Nothing I could do made any difference. I’ve always been powerless against you, couldn’t conquer you, couldn’t win.
There is no winning or losing. I know that now. It’s not a matter of strength or weakness. I know. It’s like trying to conquer the sky, or the wind. Like wading into the ocean and shouting at the waves to stop. I was pounding my fists against your chest and you were embracing me the whole time. Thank you.
I’m sorry, but I think you forgive me already. You forgave me when you were two cells, then four, then the spark of me. You forgave me my intrusion. I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did. So many years I couldn’t forgive you for much smaller crimes.
Turning together in that red dark place you let me know it was alright, in your way, without words, without expectation, patiently, without condition.
Then the famine, the violence, the blood in the sink. I would use you to steal sharp things from hardware stores. I would take you into bathroom stalls and open you up. I still don’t know why. Of course I have my theories; they wouldn’t mean anything to you. The first time I wore shorts in the summer my thighs were a crime scene, dozens of shiny red scars. They all turned white, so I made some more, lots, made it so no one would ever want to touch you. So no one could look at you without seeing me inside, a caged animal pacing the walls with violence in its step.
I will try to give you what you need. Grocery prices are through the roof right now, but I have a way of finding free meals. Lately, I eat ravenously, as much as I can, and whenever possible I try to make it something delicious. Sometimes I worry that you need more vegetables, more sleep. I haven’t purged in a year but I’m still spitting blood into the sink every time I floss. All we ever do is our best, and often it is not enough.
You, the only piece of me that reaches anything else. When the old man on the train yells at my friends that they’re faggots, you get up in front of them and put out my chest, while my heart’s still full of ice and my stomach in my shoes, without me even needing to ask. You hold the door open for women with strollers. You smile with my eyes.
The difference between ‘Thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ disappears along with shame. I’m trying hard to let it go.

Dearest vessel
The house that holds my soul
I want to first apologize
For the many years I didn’t know

I didn’t know the strength you possess
Before your reliance proved itself
I didn’t see the glow surrounding you,
Until my own light was the only warmth I felt.

My dearest vessel
Now I’d like to thank you
I’m awed but what I’ve seen you do
The bone and muscle and the weight you’ve carried
The life that has been created from you

How beautiful it is
How beautiful are you
Every inch , every perceived flaw
I’m sorry for how long it took
But
I love you, I love you.
I do.

I’ve been feeling so defeated.
So many emotions bottled up,
Looking for a healthy way to release it.

I’ve always loved to write,
But too afraid to share the feelings I’m feeling.

Wanting to use my life to make a difference,
But I’d have to put myself out there,
For the whole world to see it.

Too afraid to lose my sense of security,
I hold on to all that I been through.
But what good is my pain,
If it’s not used to help you.

As the years pass me by,
Sometimes I feel I’ve lost my purpose.
Just when I think I’ve got it figured out,
Here comes life saying,
“Here, let me show you this.”

I have to relearn & readjust,
Every so many years,
& it’s so exhausting.

Idk whats right & what’s real,
Life tends to back out on its word & confuse me foreal.
Todays healthy, is tomorrows cancer.
Just when I think I’m headed in the right direction,
I fall off my track,
& create a new disaster.

I never knew how to love myself,
Even though I really tried.
My idea of self love backfired on me,
Time after time.

Then one day my body gave me no choice but to listen,
I was barely walking or standing & my mental health was deteriorating.

I had those thoughts we never talk bout,
Because I wasn’t living.
I was glued to my bed,
Thoughts racing day & night in my head.

I couldn’t be the mom I wanted to be,
& above all, I think that’s what broke me.
So many things combined,
Made my body explode inside.
& From there on out,
I had to say goodbye to the old me.

Day after day,
I wake up & go to bed in pain.
But I try… again & again.
Whole body screaming,
“Someone please come & heal me.”

Slowly but surely, I’m working.
Hoping to find the remedies to heal all the trauma stored in me.

I deserve more then self pity.
I’ve seen ppl worse off,
living they’re dream.

It would be so disrespectful,
Not to do all that I can,
To feel better.

I’m hurten,
but occasionally I hear that voice in my head saying, “I’m worth it.”

It’s a painfully slow progress,
But Its said, “slow & steady wins the race.”
I hear we hold within us & above us,
All the tools & strength.
Strength needed to face tomorrow,
Until you reach the day with no more sorrow.
Self healing, not self pity,
Is the motto.

My body is a powerful place,
Covered in Gods healing & grace.
& one day I shall conquer.

Dear, Unsealers:

As I looked at my silhouette on the beach in Rincon, Puerto Rico the sunlight surrounds the shadow.

I can’t help but smile when I see my entire body in the early morning light. I’ve been holding it back for so long. Covering it up with socks, shoes and jeans. Making excuses for not joining in the fun. Now, I’m walking along the beach barefoot. It doesn’t matter that there’s not a soul around, just me.

The scars on the right leg from a double surgery back in 2001 are ever present, all seven of them. And the scars from the pins that used to be in my three middle toes. I feel the sensation of the sand softly walking up and down the beach. The splash of the water getting closer to the waves. And the breeze of the water surrounding me. Life feels good right now.

Days like this weren’t possible before. I was so afraid that everyone would gawk at my body. Heaven knows it came up for criticism during my younger years from loved ones. And I’ll be the first to admit that my body is an imperfect vessel.

But in this moment, I embrace myself fully and all the scars that I have. Without my scars I wouldn’t be the resilient person that I am.

Walked by a sign today that said your body is your home
And although it is not built in a day, you have have to treat it well so it can last forever
My mind instantly went into overdrive
Not built in a day, Anxiety was high
Because while home sounded nice at that moment, I didn’t want to try and cherish it
I was comforted by the implication of home, being so close to something I casually mistreat because others have all this time
But conflicted with the path that I absently chose to hide what is mine
Why didn’t I care to reach my destination
Why when I think of my body am I so complacent in these revelations
I felt tired thinking about the road, the holes, and the transformation
Almost home rang bells in my ear like your body drips with both sweat and fear of change
The mental of being happy, was covered in tears
Something about that short walk seemed long as fuck
But the sign was so pretty I took the harder path for luck
Almost home it said
Just up the road
Even in the summer
The words were so cold
Before this road, before this right turn
Things went left
The ground started to crack
I had been smiling more
Pushing forward, bouncing back
But the words hit me like the sign posted before me
Steel and still
The worth that should have been instilled
The joy I feel when piercing my body, is unreal
Like pain and love, the body and mind are just paths intersected
It was then at that moment, that I was able to really dissect it
Almost home
Almost home
Almost home
I said to myself
Almost home
Almost home
Almost home
That it finally made sense
Home, is who and what I see looking back at me
A full length mirror, 37 years later my reflection is solid
Home was definitely not built in a day
And to take care of your body you need knowledge
And grace, because this home was once lost and misplaced

I wonder how old I have to be before
people stop seeing my body
before they see me?

all life long
little black girls are sexualized
before they can even form a concept of the self.

12 year old me
standing in line at Smart & Final with my grandma
wearing my favorite romper
adorned with vibrant yellow sunflowers
and a conservative white shall.

That was the first time I got t h e stare
The licking of lips
and flirtatiously raised eyebrow from
the mid 50-something year old cashier
who kept a straight face until my grandmother looked away.
His glare of desire will always be engraved in psyche.
I didn’t know pedophiles existed
until I looked one in the face.

We can’t help that we bloom early
Blossom early into our womanhood
even when we are still kids.

What has to give before my DDD’s
stop entering the room before I do?
Before the melanin in my skins stops
telling my story before I even have the chance to speak?
Also….
what else has to be said before men
can comprehend that comparing my skin and my body to chocolate
and to meat is NOT a complete.
It’s dehumanizing.
Just. fucking. stop.

Ethnic women do not exist for the male gaze
or to be the starting point for your think pieces on feminism.
We are more than our bodies
and more than our skin tone.
We are the spirit
We are light
We ARE the blueprint
and the curator of most things
that you know and love.
Put some respect on our names
and treat us as such.

Pink lips
Round Hips
that curve tightly around my body
like a winding mountain road
Flesh that
Hugs me
snugly

Rosebud nipples
smiling dimples
an unbruised apple bottom
fit to bite
with just enough juice to run down your greedy mouth
and my stomach tight

flat, no fat
Wiggle, not jiggle
Breasts full Eyes dull No sleep Still sweet
Like fruit that has taken its first breaths of ripeness

I have been allowed to grow and swell
but my body should not tell that tale
The story of a vessel ruined by the act of creation
No
I am still an unfired kiln
I can be made warm, hot, scalding
I am not pottery broken from the inside out

And is that what I’m supposed to be?
When I have grown too large for my body
When My spirit has crossed over and back again with another soul under its wing
and we both nested in this flesh
Am I still supposed to be small?

I don’t know how.

My lips are red and dripping love for this new soul
My hips are round like a harbor
I am the port from which she’ll launch
My kneaded focaccia flesh makes the bread for her table
I have swelled
I have proofed
I have risen

Faucet nipples pour the elixir of life
and I have many dimples now
My bottom
My Thighs
the tenders of my arms
are no longer chiseled into the bedrock of my bones
My flesh hangs where it was her hammock

And I still taste sweet
Like Arizona honey
and a ripe peach
I just also want to taste like permission to be
Freedom to ripen, to split open
to pour my pit into the earth where new life springs

I want to hear the sound of applause
when my thighs slap together
And feel the sun’s approval shining on my naked, imperfect stomach
I want to feel the gratitude of creation for dancing to her tune
For joining in the chorus
For being her instrument
I want you to scream ‘encore!’ as I take a bow
I have composed a symphony of life
Chords of flesh and notes of bone
With just these humble hands

Praise me
and tell me this is exactly what
I am supposed to be.