Arms, Legs, Chest, Head, Heart

Your body is a temple, a vessel to worship,

Pray and make offerings to.

But temples soon become ruins

When people neglect them

And move on.

My body isn’t a temple,

I don’t like that metaphor,

but if it was it would be a ruin

With scars and broken bones and stretch marks and blemishes.

I tend to neglect her, I don’t worship her often enough.

My body isn’t quite like a haunted house, but she does echo with

the touches of past loves and current interests.

She isn’t cursed, even though I have cursed at her for growing too much

or not enough.

She is a friend, most of the time.