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POEM: Bodyhome

I have been thinking about my body - again!

Wondering who is my body anyway?

Is she a vessel, or just a suit of meat? Is she me? Is she who I am?

I do not wish to feel separate from my body,

treating her, feeling her as an object that I (or others) do things to.

As if she were an external object that I carry around with me,

sometimes a burden,

sometimes a trophy to display.

Neither do I wish to over identify with my body,

feeling that she represents who I am,

that she is the manifestation of my value and worth.

Thus, my body is not a she,

is not who I am,

but more, my body is where I live.

Where whatever it is that is -me-, resides.

And I love the idea that I could live here, right up to the edges of my skin.

If the thing that is me, can completely fill every molecule of my body, so they coexist in the same space,

it would feel amazing.

Amazing and also not amazing.

Just natural, neutral, normal.

Easy, with no need for constant monitoring or measuring.

If I can find my way into filling up the entirety of my bodyhome with me,

perhaps I could live here, eat here, dance here, love here, redecorate however and whenever I like.

Regardless of the rest for the neighbourhood, regardless of the weather and the way that this bodyhome will age and change with time.

And maybe part of the dis-ease I have been feeling here in my body,

is that I have been terribly homesick.

That I want to go home.

I want to come home to my body.

I miss it.

And now I am taking one one step at a time.



Painfully, finding my way home.

by Bryony Vickers


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