My Body

My body is my home.
It houses my soul and every part of who I am.
Like a house, it is my decision to decorate it and make it comfortable as I like.
It is up to me to take care of it with regular maintenance.
I must keep it safe, and protect it from anyone who may desire to harm or invade it.

My body is strong.
It presses on through the pain when I push it one more mile.
It does not fail me when subjected to late nights with research papers and caffeine.
It holds me up when I work on my feet eight continuous hours a day.

My body is fidgety.
It grows restless after several mundane hours spent in lecture halls.
My fingers start to tap in rhythm when my attention span has dwindled.
My leg shakes when my body wants to move about, but I will not let it.

My body is alert.
The little hairs on my neck tell me when there may be danger.
My heart speaks only to me when something is not right.
My stomach tells me who I should avoid.

My body is tired.
It collapses into my bed at the end of a long day.
My eyelids droop shut when my body requires sleep more than Netflix.
My arm drowsily finds its way again to my alarm clock every morning.

My body is resilient.
My shins scream at me in agony after a long run.
My back joins in unison after standing for too long.
But my body quiets the aching parts like crying children, and carries on.

My body is beautiful.
From my eyebrows to my toenails and every other part in between.
Even the parts others would prefer to change.
It is beautiful because it simply is -- and I let it be.

My body is dynamic.
It changes day to day, every time a new hair grows on my legs.
It looks different today than how it did yesterday, and how it will tomorrow.
It may lose or gain weight, and my skin may become freckled or tan.

My body is powerful.
It can command the attention of a room simply by being present.
It could create and nurture new life if I allowed it.
It is able to do many astonishing things.

My body is free.
It answers to nobody, not even to me.
It does as it pleases and its only regard is for safety and pleasure.
It mirrors the soul it harbors.

My body is opinionated.
It lets me know when I put something in it which it does or does not like.
It informs me with no delay that something was a bad idea.
It reports back just as quickly when I have done something to please it.

Above all the things it may be, it is certain only one constant:
My body is my own.
Only those whom I allow may touch it.
Only that which I believe may motivate me to alter it.

Its appearance is a direct consequence of what is done to it.
What is done to it is an effect of how the soul inside of it feels about it.

My body is worthy of love and respect and security and pride.
Certainly from everyone else, but most importantly, from myself.
This much will always true.