Story of My Body

A poem

My body tells a visual story

Stories polished with sin and glory.

Chronicles from days of insufferable stress

and also from days embracing the smallest happiness.

Scars from the fights I survived,

gave me immense courage to strive.

Bruises from past memories,

often replaced with healthy remedies.

Blisters from the walks I have taken

that continued on the path of redemption.

Wrinkles for the worries on my face,

added layers of years that cannot be replaced.

That tanline from my explorations and travels

and bidding a toxic lifestyle a quiet farewell.

Too fat for the love of food

but it helps to uplift my mood.

Or maybe too skinny to be labeled a ‘stick figure’ —

notions of body shaming that are suffocating

and leave my lungs with no air.

Clothes that reflect my personality,

but also gets me judged brutally.

Skin that is neither dark or pale

receives hate with or without any veil.

My body is tired from the constant labels

meaningless at times but hurt deep in my cells.

So what is the story of my body?

Just another name or my own sanctuary?

Maybe it’s all blood and muscles

covering all forms of human emotions.

Sometimes strong and sometimes fragile,

but with loads of love and boundless smiles.