the body
I’ve never felt that my body has matched my soul, the true me.
My true self is tall, she is dark and her beauty is staggering.
Her legs are long, her waist elegantly defined.
I wish I looked more like a woman as if that would solve my problems.
Womanly tasks and expectations were non-consensually placed upon me, and the women of this World.
The prerequisites for femininity are something I wasn’t prepared for.
If I were, my body surely wouldn’t have wronged me so.
She wouldn’t have made me short, and she wouldn’t have given me such a round face.
I would hope she wouldn’t have given me scoliosis or made me shaped like a french door.
If my body were prepping me for womanhood, she certainly would have given me larger breasts and a larger bum.
Or maybe it was all a cruel joke.
Body, I now know it wasn’t your fault.
I can’t blame you for my unhappiness any longer.
You designed me to physically embody the soul of Reese Seberg.
Reese — a woman, a sister, a daughter, a student, a manager, a feminist, a person.
She is someone.
She is more than her scarred skin and her curved back.
Reese is beyond her stocky legs and her broad shoulders.
Beneath the bones that now appear beneath her translucent skin, there is a woman deserving of all love and respect.
There is a spirit, an entity, which resides within this body.
The spiritual disconnect between the physical limits of this body and the metaphysical capabilities of my soul is no longer the cause for the civil war within my body.
Body, I am sorry.
I’m sorry for the hurtful things I say.
For the times I’ve gripped the fat around my thighs and wish it away.
For the times I have sat in nakedness, staring at your flaws.
For the tears I’ve shed, for the hate, I’ve given you, and for the shame, I’ve placed on you.
I’m sorry I’ve starved you — both of fuel and emotional connection.
I’m here now, to burn you, to spread your ashes,
To plant a sapling in your honor, to tend to her, to water her, to love her.
For what it’s worth, I hope she looks just like you.
