This is my body. It was given up for you.
Sacrum, the inner sanctum, the solar plexus shining and
You, but a seed of light.
The sacrament of birth came in cleaver,
Carved me a new shape close to death to
Show me my own mortality.
I went to pieces for you.
I never felt my body was beautiful
Until I saw what it could do,
(The t-shirts stretching over the belly, soaking in
The blood from the fabric of my being unstitching,)
What could be done to it,
(All the pieces everywhere, my hands holding myself together
For months after, the memory of splitting unshakable,)
And the self still surviving,
Stubborn and insistent and soft.
Look at the imprint love makes!
Remarkable resilience, we are shown who we are slowly,
April 8th will make 8 years since I shed my skin
And first learned to shape shift.
What I’m trying to say is, you can become anything
If you surrender fear.
I don’t regret the choice I made.
(The doctor said to carry you would kill me
And he wasn’t wrong.)
I don’t mourn the old body I didn’t understand.
(Anything that is loved enough becomes beautiful,
It’s hard to see this unless what you love is different than
What society says you should love.)
It didn’t feel safe to be seen back then.
It does now.
Original poem written as a letter to my son.
Photography exploring intimacy between the self and the body, a concept I have been waiting a long time for the courage to execute.
The resplendent June of 87 behind the lens,