“For him, my body was for him.”

Take a souvenir you don’t have to keep, Just pretend you want to remember.

For in the wild I feel the safest where the thorns of the invisible hand can not prick me.

Many times over my eyes have devoured the layers of your skin but I’ve never seen you naked.

Living in a constant paradox, begging to be held and released by gravity, to be grounded and free. But my feet pressed against the earth yearn for the clouds above my fingertips adrift whispering I don’t want to be at the mercy of gravity.

The cloak of death has favorites when its strings are being controlled by the puppeteer of hatred.

Let your memories fall into place, you don’t have to carry all of them at once.

Why are we told to be afraid to hurt? Why do we avoid, run and hide? Cover up inside with shields of armor, Our shins, and elbows made of pads of plastic; We are not made of glass and tattered bits, It’s not weakness when our strength builds us to last.

There is no sunrise as beautiful as the one where you realize you are worth a million suns.

Where do I stand when neither side recognizes me as one of them.

For time does nothing for you if you do nothing with it.

I am suffocating in the vacancy of the overflowing space, can you feel me reaching out?

Can you taste the colors your ancestors weaved into, The armors of resilience they wore; Can you taste the colors of the unpaved path before you, waiting to be colored by you?

Have you ever heard silence? How do you hear the silence? You don’t, you feel it. And they stared at the silence between them.

How can I not love you from a distance when you breathe the same way I do, Have the same needs I do?  Search for the same purpose and meaning that I do? Why must there be me over here and you over there that do not live in the same world?

They are simple creatures they see right through you and if by chance they miss you, they will make you believe you were never there.

Why must your suffering cause my peace and my peace your suffering?

Peace is when I am cuddled up in a snug wool blanket with a hot coffee in hand without worry in mind, so I can dream about red sunsets and the scent of warm, sun kissed bodies.

There is no such thing as a summer body. Your beauty is not seasonal, it is perennial. Your body need not change for your skin to enjoy the sun.

Maybe he is a one kind of a poem in a form of a body.

Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top. My mama, she told me don’t worry about your size. She says boys like a little more booty to hold at night. Yeah I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll, so if that’s what you’re into then go ahead and move along.

I think everybody has the right to a private life.

Let fire and the cross; let the crowds of wild beasts; let tearings let shatterings of the whole body; and let all the evil torments of the devil come upon me: only let me attain to Jesus Christ.

In general, we are sort of conditioned to see a different body type as acceptable and maybe look away when the other body type arrives.

I was so skinny, they gave me the nickname stechetto – the stick. I was tall, thin, ugly and dark like an Arab girl. I looked strange. All eyes. No flesh on my bones.