The body is a field of sensation,
With prickles and tingles,
Those overlapping waves of guilt, anxiety and shame.
It is not a hostile place, although it may seem,
It is my home filled with memories, both seen and unseen.
Like patchwork, disorganized patterns were stitched carelessly,
From a past where careless me would sit lazily.
“You are unworthy and useless,”
Her words filled my capillaries, pumping doubt and insecurity,
Clouded moments evolving a foggy identity.
One morning I created space,
Placing a finger to my third eye, the forgotten came to light,
Bringing with it a warm viscosit glow,
Soothing the grooves and canals of my weathered soul.
Now a pink illuminating river flows within,
Carrying thoughts that reawaken.
My sleeping giant: so bold and so vascular,
Just waiting for me to rescue her.