The haiku itself
Forces me to count my words
Haiku writing sucks.
Until next post!
I woke up aching
Head throbbing, eyes bloodshot
Last night’s mistakes rang out in my mind
All their whispers beat down upon my skull.
I held on to my head the way I clung to the hope of us. It still hurt.
And then I realized
Whether I let him go or not
He was gone
I had gotten drunk
I was hungover
The cure: 3 bitter tsps of truth+ just a dash of “fake it til you make it”+ a pint of self-love. Add water. Stir. Drink. Repeat until better.
So I got up and showered.
I was going through my Evernote app and found a “note” that had me thinking “Damn, I was going through it!”. Given that I missed posting for three days including today and I am bent on completing the challenge I gave myself, I am gonna post it now. It’s pretty short but powerful, I think. Here you go.
My body writes me poetry.
It writes in cursive.
We don’t appreciate cursive quite as much as we used to.
The words curve along my feminine parts and they demand to be read by every admirer of my flesh
I started having this poetry written to me before I became woman,
Around the time puberty became my uninvited body transformer.
It made no sense to me
“How could I have stretchmarks when I have no booty?”
I didn’t get it. I didn’t like it.
Now I get it. Now I’m in love with it. In love with them.
My stretch marks. My marks. They run deep.
Deep enough that I won’t forget that there has been a journey.
Things weren’t always like this and they won’t stay like this forever.
The creams, the surgeries- futile weapons all.
They may dim them or temporarily conceal them but they will never fill them
For my marks are dents that never need to be filled
They are reminders that a part of me can be broken and I’ll still remain whole
There’s a science to it but I’d rather focus on the nature of it.
It was my body’s way of telling me that it needed to grow even if all of me wasn’t ready, even if I wasn’t comfortable
It needed to expand and it needed to do so swiftly
I could catch up later. I would. I have.
Every woman’s body tells stories.
Some stories have more volumes than others.
Some stories hit touch our core more than others.
These stories can be read with eyes closed, palms open and fingers willing,
With lips parted and tongues ready to translate.
They are transcendent waves sun-kissed or moonlit
asking lovers to immerse themselves and get swept away.
These stories are epic, captivating, real.
They connect us all as lines tend to do.
Each of us being our body’s muse
get a love letter (some of us get a few).
My body may not be the most eloquent poet
but it speaks a language that sometimes only I understand
My stretchmarks were written in its native tongue
And the words are beautiful
Body issues are present in all of us and stretch marks are a major source of this for many. I know it is hard to accept these for some of us and truthfully, it is understandable. But we only get one body in this life (plastic surgery options aside) and I think we should have as much fun with that one body as we possibly can and get the most out of it. We all age and turn to dust eventually anyway. Let’s just accept that the flawless is unrealistic and get to accepting and celebrating the evidence that life flows through us.
I was inspired to write this after seeing the Featured Image in this post. The woman in the picture, Alexanra Elle is beautiful and writes lovely words. I plan to recreate this picture. I just need the right photographer or the patience to do it myself. Let’s all own our stretchmarks and show how beautiful they are…if we dare. 🙂
“I wana taste you”
“Wait, let me finish…
I wana taste you
With my pores. I wana drink you in with my eyes.
I wana lick every inch
Wrap my tongue around every drop
With my skin. I wana soak you in.
I want to have you flood my tastebuds with your juices.
Drown me with your nectar.
I just want to savor you.”
“I just wana know why. I’m not sure I’m delicious”
“Because you grazed my lips and my mind already and what you left was sweet”
“That’s hard to believe because I really think I’m an acquired taste”
“Then let me acquire you”