My Body
My body,
ripe for the taking,
filled with shames voice.
Plunged into the fiery depths of self mutilation.
My sense of self lashes out, and when threatened,
curls inwards to my very core.
The stress creeps upwards,
as if failing to reach the freedom of a hill top
filled with weeping willows,
that sway with the loaded failures of my past.
Disintegration comes when I buckle under
the stress of reliving these failures.
My shoulders pull back and settle into my body
opening up vessels of hope.
I take one step at a time
as if walking the line of steadiness.
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