Dear Bum

Body Image Recovery

I wield a sizable bum
As shapely and wide as they come
With a wiggle of my hip
I make the scales tip
Bringing down, without a frown
The most obnoxious clown

Another of my woes
My chubby Hobbit toes
Adorning wide-ish Hobbit feet
Which never miss a beat
Stepping, tapping, moving to gigs
Bringing along the aforementioned hips

If you want to look close
There is my Romanesque nose
Thanks to the brute
I will never look cute
But if I am ever out of a job
I could work as drug-sniffing dog

Now genetics are mostly to blame
For cellulite and varicose veins
I got nothing here to address this matter
Though without my veins and skin I would certainly not be better

Therefore, I must conclude:
Dear hips, toes and brute
You have served me well so far
Despite not hitting the bar
We dance, hike, smell, jump and run
And have a heck lot of fun

Blood in Snow

Sister, sister
Don’t you know
I will not have
More blood in snow
I did fight for you to grow
Anger you will have let go

Sister, sister
Thou shall not pass
I will always be their guard
They have the right to their own path
They have the right to light, and grow
I will not have more blood in snow

Sister, sister
Eons now
We dance this dance of why and how
My place is mine thou shall not pass
But please find peace with your own path
There is your place; we need you so
I will not have more blood in snow

Sister, sister
So mote it be
Light and love I hope find thee
Let the dark from your soul go
I will not have more blood in snow
Because I will, and I say so

My Freedom 

On top of a munroe
Gale force winds
I stumble from the force
Red scarf-tussles slash into my face

My breath ripped away
Brightly coloured blurs stagger downhill
Leaning against the gusts
‘It’s a bit windy up top’

I caught only snippets
‘No kidding’, you laugh.
Crouching against the breezy punches
I can see the summit

We stumble to the base of the cross
‘Kneel or be pushed over!’
The storm roars
Breathing almost impossible

My freedom on top of the munroe
My freedom at gunpoint of the gale
I get up and tumble another twenty yards
Holding onto the granite pillar with both hands
Viewpoint my ass; I think crouching.

There is nothing
But my freedom to be
Just to be in this moment
The winds roars, and tosses a handful of scattered snowflakes my way

‘When you are out in the hills you are always alone, even with people.’ You observe.

My Sadness

Creeps up on me
In the most inconvenient moment

In monthly ebb and flow
Expedited by grief—about changes

Grief about having to let go
Grief about accepting that which once was is no more
Grief about could-have-beens
Grief about loss

In monthly ebb and flow
The grief is brought to the fore
The ebb and flow of life
Will always be bittersweet
A tear for the past
A smile for the present
And the future—an unknown—not worth fretting about
Because what is to come is to come

So I embrace my sadness
Because this too shall pass
Because at the moment this is
Bit by bit by bit a part of healing
And tomorrow the sun will smile again

Your Hate

Your Hate is an empty echo
You scream it into the voids of the virtual realm
It shows shallow understanding:
Of yourself, your behaviour, your ignorance,
Your manipulation, your anger, your violence

Your Hate does not reach me
No matter how hard you try
Because it aims at a person—a version you created of me—that does not exist
Your Hate attacks a projection of your own pain—not me
Yet you cannot see this

Because Your Hate
Red mist—even after such a long time
Clouds your judgement
Of your self
Of others—not just me
Others you have wronged with misdirected hate
Others you have wronged with victimizing yourself
Silent Atonement I had to exercise for believing your smokescreen of hate

And so I prayed
And lid candles
I asked for your soul to be saved
But you need to want saving
And you don’t
Because being saved
Is painful
Is easy

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