The Body

The Body

I arrived at myself
through a series of routines,
exercises really.

White Man.
White Woman.
Black Man.

Not in that order.

The body persists in its lessons,
demands its demands
of me and the world,
to be more
than function and fantasy;

to be deeper
and cherished ,

The world don’t love me right,
won’t do right by the body.
It made me forget the body was mine.

But while I wait
I worship myself
in the mirror,

Set an altar
every morning.

Write a promise of return
across my chest,
tag my toe with a strand of
my grandmother’s hair,
walk along an invisible jagged line
from my sister’s heart to mine.


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