The mountains in the valley like the curves of a woman, the rivers that run deep over rocks, my flesh, the water as my blood cascading waterfalls as yoni nectar, your body is my body. The crisp air as pure energy, I breathe your breath, as one, the smell of the rich earth, the scent of sweet grass, the swaying flowers radiating their perfume as an offering of sacredness to me, to show me my…
I was afraid people will meet my weight before they meet me – shake the hand of the few pounds that won’t shift before they shake my own Growing into myself made self hatred swell in my expanse, it invited disgust to settle here, making a home for itself inside my suffocating ribcage These days, I’m taking up space, Slapping my thighs to watch the wiggle and laughing, not crying This is my body. I…
My body is a place that runs With deep, dark waters, …
I look in the mirror and all I see is an impostor, Dangling a pink rope around my neck, Unwilling to let me breathe. To be me. Air, air, let me breathe please, Because you are all suffocating me. I am suffocating me. I want it gone, gone, gone. I am stranded with no life jacket or boat. No one can hear me plea to wish away this agony. I feel shunned…
This is the axis upon which your existence spins, widdershins The world plummets onto the expanse of your back and you crumble under its weight Knees buckling, lungs burning, screaming, gasping for air But you do not let it fall Mountains burrow their snowy peaks into your skin Oceans roll past your shoulder, spilling briny rivers to mingle with your veins A sleepy valley tucks into your nape and crushes flowers against your flushed vessel…
The first cervical vertebra is called the atlas and it holds up the skull Beneath our feet, Atlas shifts and grunts trembling under the weight of the heavens nestled where his neck melts into his shoulder The funny thing is there is nothing holy here hidden in our skulls Amma drowns our house in incense and wafts curling smoke into my face from a plate of fire Blessings and purification, she says as she spins…
I’ve heard it spoken once before in a high school science class that water constitutes nearly sixty percent of our gossamer bodies. Having been given only glimpses into our complex interiors, I imagine the other forty percent involves peculiar mixtures of lingering aspirations, tongue-tied silence, jaded remembrances, and the poised solicitudes spiraling from prior erasures of memory. However, I’m extremely inclined to profess that assumptions about the composition of one particular body are always shattered…
I wonder, with my body and your body and so many other bodies on this planet, how much we break the body of space that surrounds us daily. I think about the way we exchange the air we breathe with the abounding atmosphere in our inhales and exhales, how they pollute the rising horizons and the fading paper-mâché fantasies with equally paper-mâché people. Just two days ago at the diner I used to often visit,…
These humans are so accustomed to violence and hatred They don’t realize how peace and love is sacred They squirm when a sex scene is broadcasted But mimic identical actions in their own bed Capable of watching a family get gutted with a knife Incapable of noticing this is not the way of life A country which has acquired violence immune deficiency When in reality, its citizens are deprived of self-sufficiency They will go haywire…
there are particles in my soul that are assembled and reassembled throughout my body rewiring and reprogramming my cognition and my entire being they are fluid and malleable they are reconstructing my higher self constantly shifting my creativity leaving me in an awakened state of wonder… -Farrah Macci