Sometimes it feels like my body isn't for me.
it's for a baby.
someone who never had permission.
those who feel entitled to comment on it--condemn or congratulate or whisper.
it cannot be mine when an outside source has it's happiness and content tied to my flesh. it cannot be mine when the power to classify it has been sold to the highest bidder.
i may be exhausted-
curling my toes in utter pain-
It doesn't matter. ...Here they come again...
The old wolves with new faces that live in my head and somehow take form in reality again.
there's only one way out for me
and that is through. the way out is through...my breath shakes. the way out is through...my voices quivers. the way out is through and my body compulsively trembles...again...like before...forgetting the distinction between an old tale and reality. it's all real to the body.
it can move. the pain leaves. it's home is not my body. it leaves through my breath. it travels out the curve of my spine. it crawls out of my feet. it loses it's hold on my ribs. as I contract my thighs for this last asana, i reclaim totally, completely what was mine all along. my body. my home.
i reclaim each square inch through yoga every single day. i am. i am. i am.
words by me
photo by @chandolla