An Open Letter to my Body

(Inspired by Rudy Francisco's To The Body)

Dear eyes,

I know you don’t see very well,

and you and the ears have refused the help of glasses,

but I want you to know that I appreciate you.

I appreciate the fact that you still look up

into the branches of trees

as you walk under them,

I appreciate the fact that you force the knees to give in

just so you can be closer to the ground

to see ants and crickets scuttling by.

I appreciate that you try.

And I know that soon you’ll be bejeweled with crow’s feet

because you have to squint to see anything in front of you,

but that’s okay,

because you still see beauty,

and every wrinkle will be proof that you do.

Dear tongue,

don’t be shy.

It’s okay to speak up.

I know you have things to say,

I know you have beautiful words to share,

you just need to find the confidence to begin speaking

because you can create feelings,

you can make colors that only the mind can see,

you can make someone believe,

you can make someone feel the way you do,

for just a moment,

you can pull worlds from thin air

and string them together to create universes

and give all who listen a chance to gaze through your telescope

and see the stars you’ve aligned in your own night sky,

you just have to begin.

But it’s beginning that’s hard,

isn’t it?

Because you’re shy,

and you like to hide behind the teeth

of a smile that says,

“Hi. I’m Maddie. And I don’t want to talk to you.”

Be brave,

trust me.

Dear ears,

sit this one out,

give the tongue a chance.

Dear lungs,

I don’t understand why you forget how to breathe

after climbing just three flights of stairs.

You used to be so agile

back when we were climbing mountains after school.

But ever since we’ve come to Nebraska,

there’s been a severe decrease in the number of mountains we’ve climbed.

Now just making it upstairs to our dorm room

is like climbing a fourteener in between classes

with a laptop in our backpack.

Dear hands,

I know you get bored,

just sitting there, waiting,

you crave the touch of another human,

another set of fingers to weave between your own,

another palm to press tightly against your skin,

but instead all you are given are pens and paper

and the need to describe just how you are feeling

with poetry filled with unnecessary allegories

and metaphors that make even the paper groan under their weight,

I’m sorry.

The heart is working on it,

but the tongue has been holding progress back.

Just be patient.

In the meantime,

write the words the tongue can’t say,

words the eyes can’t see,

words the ears can’t hear,

write poetry to give to that special someone

when he appears before us.

Don’t you dare approach him empty handed

because you know that the tongue will choke up again

and it will be up to you to make it alright

and hand the boy a poem that will make him believe that perhaps he could love you too,

it’s up to you to create the words that will fill his stomach with butterflies,

and want to make his hand reach out and grab you.

Stop clutching one another like your lives depend on it,

let go.

Write.

And be patient.

Dear feet,

You too must wait, like the hands.

I know you want to go,

but you have to stay here for just a bit longer,

for the brain’s sake.

Dear brain,

keep it up.

You’re beginning to slack a bit,

Daydreaming of place beyond the walls of classrooms,

and homework and tests,

but you have to stay focused for three years more.

You’re making the feet antsy,

put away those fantasies and work on getting a degree.

Once we graduate I promise I’ll let you be,

I’ll let you guide these feet to the end of the earth

in search of what you crave:

adventure, danger,

and all the things you read in books,

but I really don’t think it’s possible to be a pirate

or a cowboy anymore.

The “Old West” has become into a metropolitan chasm

where hipsters wearing rainboots on sunny days

can get a triple shot chocolate macchiato espresso cappuccino chais

on one of the 30 street corner drive-thru StarBucks.

Sorry for crushing your dreams,

I know you like your coffee black and bitter

just like cowboys do.

Dear heart,

I don’t know what the hell you’re doing.

But please stop it immediately.

Dear body,

Hang in there.

One day you’ll be able to leave,

one day you’ll be able to love.

One day you’ll be something people will want to remember.