If I Could Sit In A Room With My Body

If I could sit in a room with my body, I’m not sure what I’d say.

Alone with the body I live in, away from light of day.

The body I have sits outside me, unaware that I am there.

You are me, and I am you, alone in that small chair.

In this room there is darkness, black with hints of blue.

Blue from years of sorrow, years of mourning you.

My body is silent and trembling, a spotlight hangs above.

My body is quiet and cautious, only wishing for my love.

My eyes are cast downwards, they look to the floor.

My arms tightly folded, they are open no more.

I’ve spent years in my body, but in that short time,

I’ve hurt you, my body, I’ve wished you weren’t mine.

Always too fat, never too thin.

I’ve prodded your figure, I’ve molded your skin.

I’ve picked at your flesh and poked at your sides.

I’ve said you’re no good, I’ve demanded you try,

Try to be better, to be something I want.

Try to be better, a body to flaunt.

I was meant to protect you, from cruel eyes and cruel minds,

But instead I surrendered, I joined their kind.

When I see you my body, ashamed and afraid,

I see all the damage, the mess that I’ve made.

I’ve hurt you my body, with invisible cuts,

With knives made from words and sharpened by thoughts.

Let me heal you my body, heal you deep from within.

Let me heal you my body, please, let me begin.

I’m sorry my body, I so deeply am.

I see your true beauty, I now understand.

Forgive me, my body, for all that I’ve done.

Let me come back, I beg you, please let us be one.

If I could sit in a room with my body, I know exactly what I’d do.

I’d wrap my arms around me and I’d say, “I love you.”