Dear body,

Thank you –

For aging and growing – for becoming wise in the face of goodbyes

For laugh lines from streaking in the desert under Milky Way skies

For catching yourself all those times, before hitting the ground

For the clarity in your voice when you speak your truth

For resilience in everything I've put you through –

Intentionally, and not.

Dear body,

You are so strong –

These fibers of your worries do not have to stay enmeshed,

These weights on your shoulders can always be set down when you need rest

Those scars on your limbs – those speckles and nicks on your fingertips

Are a narrative written on your skin

They remind you who you are,

Who you've become and where you've been.

Dear body,

You are so lucky –

With limbs that scale cliffs and boulders

Greeted by ladybugs on your shoulders

Bumblebee guardians resting on your right foot's big toe

Able to smell the carnations on the kitchen counter, and

To taste the flan with the caramel homemade on the stove.

Able to drink water from the tap and feel loved ones' hands on your back.

Dear body,

You have come so far –

The same small, uncoordinated fingers that would reach for the breeze

That clumsily grasped at pebbles on the river's beach,

Are now valuable tools sautéing onion, garlic, and bell peppers

Tools placing the needle on top of the Fleetwood Mac record

Tools of caring – shoulder massages like Dad.

To smooth out those edges that time makes jagged.

Dear body,

Please, forgive me –

For not always recognizing what you were made to be.

For ignoring supposed core survival instincts

For cutting at restful nights with screen strained eyes

For sacrificing self-care out of the need to please

And for ever doubting what you can do,

Creatively, or physically.

Dear, dear body,

Your skin seeps out loving,

You are endlessly becoming

And you've always seen better in the dark.

You are so much more than what the world says that you are.

Sincerely, Breathe deep, and repeat.

I poured these words out of my fingertips like a running stream of everything I was feeling after I drove home from work one night. I felt the weight of countless expectations I had for myself that I hadn't yet been able to accomplish. I have a habit of not appreciating where I've been, and always focus a great deal of my attention on where I'd like to be. But poetry has always been my best guide to start appreciating. I focused on the feeling in my hands for the first time that day as they gripped the steering wheel; my foot on the gas and my eyes as they stared down the dark road. When I got home, I sat with all of the reflections I had and recognized how many times I've relied on my physical body to hold me up when I thought I would not be able to.