No qualms with the body, #78

Face it, no matter
what skills you possess
or how much you lay
yourself down, breath in
and out, meditate
on universal
truths and what it takes
to be human, you know
you can’t fight the skin
and bone, the stomach,
the slow sobering
liver, the kidneys
and the intestines.

What needs to be scratched
will be scratched, and lungs,
or whatever parts
cigarettes target,
will be puffed. The body
is no magician,
but we realize
our belief, wisdom
and will have no chance
against it. If skin
is being lavished
and hormones released
and pleasure centers
inundated, peace.

A long calm falling
over everything.
Whatever ideas
you had, plans maybe
for the day, thrown out
the window, relax,
kick back, don’t bother
to fight. Some call it
addiction, weakness
a dearth of power,
a poor upbringing.
I start no battle
I can not win, no
qualms with the body.

When one says to sleep
I close my eyes. When
one says scratch or pick,
trim this or rub that,
I am a quick slave,
willing friend, giver
of whatever blade
your gluttony craves.
If you desire drink
or food, I am off
to the store, quick like
an expectant dad
on a midnight run.

The reward given,
my eyes shut tight, mouth
gaped open and moans
welling up inside
rise to the surface.
For this brief moment
I am not there, stuck
on that plane, buried
in skin, suffering
through politics, work,
bills, broke promises.
I am here. Right now.
Full in this moment.

Then the time passes,
then pain, consequence,
body (or bodies)
woke up to what’s left,
the hours lost, days
in recovery
and skin, raw and red,
which now only wants
more, more, more more.
And as “friend” suggests
we give willingly
to the cause, because
it is right and just.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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