Much deeper than fat
and hatred of skin
It is loathing
of the whole
self
And so in love and ink
I reclaim
That which should,
but never truly felt
as though it were
Mine
Always one step away
just out of my grasp
For what is the distance
between a trot and a canter
That small gap
the cavern between
belief and hate
A bidding war, of the mind
Geometric
Calculating volume
off by litres
The rosy goggles of past
vie with the distortion framed scrutiny
of now
What is true?
Where is real?
Smug clicks of tape measure’s recoil
What is wrong
with me?
And then the light
only small
Glittering
Its ultimatum
to breathe
Desperate for its touch
To feel warmth
chase the fog
Wholeness
of self
I comply
Breathing
I fill
like water seeping
dry soil of neglected rubber trees
stray roots clambering
over my edge
But then
as the calathea
her pinstripe suit
in salutation greets the sun
I stand
Proud
Inhabiting
My self
The farthest reaches tingling
with the energy
of Life.
by Clementine Yost ©
