My flesh is a threat to me

It hangs with a heavy insolent manner
Like an axe too a lumberjack who carries it through without choice .

My flesh taunts me,
laughing at my attempts to see how far away I can get from myself

I feel best with room
My flesh tells me that we can never live in harmony
That my need to pull the skin away from its origin is a life occupation

That by pinching and pulling the meat from my ribs
Is so I can see the bruises after
But it’s not so

I am creating room between my bones and skin for canyons to form their easy beauty

With contour lines carving their way so i can feel curvy

So I have space for the sublime kindness of a springs mother like nature
being home to life with no reserve

I can be home to a fresh cliff
So i can harness the first breath of a perfect submit

I venture so I will leave feeling much more than city weight on fragile ligaments

I am reminded that my body is too occupied by natures divine right to be my number one purpose

There’s no room for anything else
And flesh is nothing but its purest form
a smooth, flat, gorgeous casing for all my youth.

Circumstances will lead me to believe that all the fat i can grab on my body is the most strenuous issue

A weight that hangs and I can’t be happy till there’s nothing to hold

Sadness seems tangible in my skin
Shifting it, scraping, lifting, pinching the unwanted meat creates