A Meditation for spider body

I miss you, my darling

For the world is waking up

I no longer feel like I need to make apologies anymore

I thought my heart died alongside him

I thought other people were the inspiration for why I made up words,

But it’s radically becoming obvious- I am in tune with myself and the way my legs are spread like a spider every day upon waking up.

My thighs are one with my cushion

and everything is rooted

breathing once or twice

Thinking of the power of my body

where I so tightly held my fear

the fear of the cartilage in my kneecaps

would slowly disappear

but my security was restored after my mother outlined what I thought was missing and mysterious bone, and she told me it would be okay.

It’s going to be okay!

The fact I think I’m in love again, but yet I have the grace to understand I’m in love with the visible petals on the flower right now-

but his dirt and roots are what I’m attracting to.

I’m never more in love

or aware of gardening and growth metaphors

Until I can feel my own stomach growl,

Because I know what she needs

and I’m waking up to finding the energy to sustain

the power I hold in my own body and mind.

Physical attraction and the sleepy satisfaction

of realizing the weight of my own body on the bed,

and the thoughts-

and silent prayers of appreciation said in ten minute increments,

and the imaginary trace of his presence,

perhaps maybe on a good day of which I will decide,

he may get a glimpse of who I was and who I am-

My body is mine

She’s free again from the weight of sadness and criticism, but she still prepares for waves of grief

and holds gratitude for the vices of yesterday I put in it.

Moving forward exists in the faith I am now putting in it,

to guide me to yet another time and place

of where time and intimacy and touch,

and confessions on an ordinary Thursday night

where I thank him,

but only after I thank myself,

for validating the sappiness within the heart,

and gratitude for the satisfaction of living again.

Taylor HodgkinsLeave a comment

The Ramblings of a Madwoman: A Body.

It breaks down all of the time.

How am I suppose to love something that is always betraying me?

My hands stab–

myself in the back

that breaks with each thrust of the blade.

My legs give–

under the weight of my world

and my own problems.

My face, morphing–

a stranger stares back at me,

“who the fuck are you?” I scream

with tears running down,

drowning me

but the face doesn’t make one single sound.

I don’t make a sound.

Peachy Anon1 Comment

I’m Scared of My Body

I’m scared of my body

I’m scared of the storm

of pops and cracks that come with nearly every step

but I have come to learn there is power in fear

. . .

I feel the power and fear of taking ownership

which looked like

ignoring the side-eye from a man who stood next to me as we shared a mirror and I

shaved my face.

. . .

I seized the power

of viewing my body as

less of a burden

when I choose to feel its heart in other places

beating besides my chest

like on a February night when I held his hand

and we ran down the street collapsing in laughter

like the kind I was trying to

hold in when he snapped my bra in the school hallway many years earlier.

. . .

I’m scared of my body

I’m scared of the storm

There is fear in the power of the silent aftermath of the tide’s rising

and the tide bringing in my own personal truth

the truth being limitations of what my body can do

putting the tight lid from a jar

on dreams of a delivered truth

I didn’t know I had.

Back and forth beats goes the beat of the heart that is everywhere but in my chest

my eyes soaking in words from a tiny screen

I feel safety in clothing myself in the simple promise that

it is okay to work through whatever it is I need to work through

and I’m wanting nothing more than to touch him

but now there’s a collective fear of losing trust in our bodies to a mysterious presence, and so much of this trust is missing from me,

from you,

from your neighbor down the street

now there is just fear of not knowing

how much our bodies can withstand.

. . .

I’m scared of my body

I’m scared of the storm

there is power in fear

and I fear I am

falling in love

with the notion of acceptance

and gratitude for the fact

it is mine, and I can give it away if I so choose,

It is mine and I think I love it.

It can do this and that and this and that, and it can hold so much.

It’s been wrought with grief

from losing that boy

who became a man who struggled with devastating disease but sometimes still remains alive in my mind’s eye in a snapshot

of a boy

who once giggled as he snapped my bra in the hallway when we were fifteen,

It’s held me down and kept me in the ground as I-

read the words of another man and think to myself,

“How could I possibly be more infatuated with him

or infuriated I can’t feel his touch,

the only thing my bones know for sure

is of his importance.

. . .

I’m scared of my body

I’m scared of the storm

There is little fear in protection

Like when my body said I’m sorry I may hurt you from time to time,

but I’m here.

With roots and dainty fingers whose ring size is just ULTRA tiny

I’m here for you to breathe every morning in the still promise of breathing and understanding you’re still here.

you’re still here you can walk-

Good god, do you have the ability to speak!

Watch what you say about me and my abilities.

I’m here to hold you-

I’m here to house you after every twister.

Taylor HodgkinsLeave a comment

Immaculate Conception

Hail Mary

Filled with disgrace,

That man was with you.

Never letting tears roll down your face,

You wished to weep

As his hands touched your thigh,

But you must be his fragile sheep

As his fingers go inside

Your holy vessel.

_._._._._._._

Holy Mary

You pray to God

That a fertilized egg won’t nestle

In the sheets of your womb.

You can’t bear the child of a sinner,

But as he thrusts

You must

Lay silent in your room.

Your duvets wraps like a cocoon.

You shrivel from his hot breath

Now

And at the hour of your death.

_._._._._._._

Hail Mary

Just in case,

You take a test.

You fear

That little pink plus sign

And as the time comes near

Your heart

Beats out of your chest.

Ten more seconds.

Wait and see.

His child is with thee.

_._._._._._._

Holy Mary

A mother, by god

Of a bastard baby, leeching.

Outside, you wear a smile

As the lamb of god has gifted you with child.

But inside your soul is screeching,

Your faith is in shambles.

How could the lord let this man take your innocence and pride?

You pray for the sinner,

But you hope that he breaks

Under the weight of his sins,

Like the cracks in your over-stretched skin.

You hope his conscience makes him sick

Just like his child makes you

Every morning at six.

You hope he suffers, just like you

Now

And at the hour of his death.

Zoë CardinalLeave a comment

She’s a Warrior

You wouldn’t be able to tell just by seeing

Her messy hair, her stained blouse, her smiles for days

She’s a warrior.

You wouldn’t be able to tell just by hearing

Her laughs, her jokes, her quick remarks

She’s a warrior.

You wouldn’t be able to tell behind closed doors

Where she cries, where she hides, where she sleeps endlessly

She’s a warrior.

How could you possibly see

Her bloodied hands tearfully clutching her success, in fear of it slipping away at any moment?

How could you possibly hear

Her inner dialogue a battery mix of self-loathing, manifestation, and determination?

You couldn’t possibly know that behind closed doors

This brilliant, complex, ambitious girl

She’s a warrior.

Emily SmithLeave a comment