My body is a place that runs
With deep, dark waters,
Spilling blood and salt
And desperation.
I’ve punished it
And painted it
And tried to make it pretty,
Tried to make it reckless,
Tried to make it something that it’s not
- a safe space
For
someone like you.
It is a junkyard of expectations,
Filled with mattresses that say
Objectified.
Filled with cracked windows that say
Defiance.
It has been a holiday,
A halfway house,
A place to stay a while,
But too haunted
By the ghosts of futures past
To call a home.
But it is mine and it is useful.
It is blurry at the edges,
It is drowning in
itself,
But it is strong.
And it is learning to be naked in its truthfulness.
-Tallulah Jardine