Stripped
Stripped bare, my garments fall to the ground...free,
I expose my scars like medals gleaming.
In the moon's glow, I rediscover me.
The crowning moon lights my path. Then, soaring,
nature exhorts...the fertile earth bearing
fruit like a mother awaiting. I pray
for a stellar reception, an array
of constellations dancing on bare skin.
Stripped of mores below, I long to allay
my burdens by exposing scars within.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, April 17, 2012
for YOUR BIRTHDAY SUIT Contest (Cyndi MacMillan)
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