How do you feel when your lover kisses your stretchmarks on your shoulder?
What about when they caress the birthmark on the upper left of your abdomen?
What is your reaction when they take your hips into their arms, when you feel the adrenaline rush through your body?
How do you react when they softly kiss your neck and you feel their breathing, giving you goosebumps from desire?
What does a kiss, which started with laughter and proceeds into seriousness do to you?
What about when you gently wake up from your lover hugging you from behind, warm, under the covers?

Why do we often look at our bodies as a nuisance? Why do we fill ourselves with self-doubt and put ourselves down for what we look like? I often wonder if it is because we know our first encounter with others is purely superficial. Their personality, their dreams, the way they treat others in various every day scenarios, the thoughts they have when they are alone in front of a mirror – all of these elements are usually hidden away enigmatically.
Our bodies are so majestic; they work in mysterious and ethereal ways. It is simply fascinating to realize how many biochemical processes occur every second unbeknownst to us in a molecular level.
How crazy is it to think that you and the person next to you were once a mere cell? How that cell developed and became your father, mother, sister, brother, teacher, lover?
When we think of our origin as a fact of miracle – when we view our existence here as a form of miracle, what does that make us feel like?
When we realize this, when we learn to really love ourselves, it is a feeling of liberation. This sentiment is really difficult to attain because we are affected by many people and their demands or preconceived notions.


Copyright © M.E.S.

In the boy with the feet of a dancer, the heart of a lion
Swift movements, to exert his fire, his passion and pain

In the man who recently lost his sight, the eyes of the future
Brushes of maroon, turquoise, beige and lilac – to distinguish his perception of reality, his canvas of beauty

In the woman with Parkinson’s, hands of magic
Touch of keys, each sound a teardrop in her ocean of melodies, her breaths of late night memoirs

In the girl who recently lost her partner, the gift of patience, of insight
To resist the easy route, to feel the art in perseverance, in transient repetition
To console her past love’s past lover
To lay with her first love and tuck her in amid cycles of unconsciousness.

This, right here, this is who we are.
With all of our mistakes and weaknesses.
It is the decisions we have to replenish our ever-changing purpose.

A life without sacrifice is one worth defying.

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You are not going to be the reason I draw into myself again.
Your actions will not make me immobile or suffocate me any longer, just like theirs did.
I will not tip-toe around your wrongdoings because your ‘hormones are all over the place’.
Justified, because of what is between your legs.
Confident, because being honest is difficult and so beneath you.

I will not take the blame for being too analytical or taking behaviours too seriously.
I will take the responsibility of making things right.
I will not be told to relax when my body is treated with disrespect.
I will not be silent and poised while you are allowed to laugh and breathe without any remorse or regret.
I will not be the one who will carry your heavy conscience.

This will be the start to change.

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