My Body is a Temple
My body is a temple
And it is where I worship
I am like an ancient artifact
Carefully crafted and reconstructed
After many, many trials
The temple became this precious
Only after years of critique
And grooming in response to the
looming eyes and voices of
Uninvited tourists
Who were quite disappointed in their visit
I could never quite figure out
Why I couldn’t quite figure it all out
When it came to
My walls, my gardens,
And the goddess for whom I was built
She is cruel at times
Attracting and intriguing
Only to find that my architecture is quite unique
I was often told in many phrasings
That I should be myself and that different is a good thing
But now that I am seventeen and being myself
I have found a new type of intruder
There are bugs crawling on my floors
And there is dust and dirt covering my altar
And the goddess is dissatisfied once again
Simply because sometimes the uninvited guests
Will take facts about me and turn them into insults
They will describe me by taking
My reality and spitting it back into my face
And taking a look around my ornate decor
And carefully plotted landscape and
Commenting on how I am both overgrown and undergrown
Even though all I did was start shaving my head instead of shaving my legs
And my body is a temple
And it creaks like it is 500 years old
Weighed down by the judgement and the stares
And the “Nobody wants to see that”
My body is a temple
This is where I worship
And sometimes
I like to let the ivy grow over the entrance
So I can pray to my goddess in peace
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