Poetry In Motion
The beauty of every rep
I am both the puppet And the puppeteer. I lift and lower, Arms Wooden and achy, Legs Useless and limp.
The muscles tear and mend And build and rebuild, Their hardness beneath my skin An armor forged By my own sweat and will. I am the victor, Conquering myself.
There is poetry in each repetition and Beauty in each movement. My body, a rough draft, Constantly in revision. I make myself My own art.
And I am never finished.
Thank you to Trisha Traughber for inviting me to consider the power of the seemingly mundane. Please read her piece and explore the prompt by following the link.
