I promise
I have tried every method the body zealots insist
will make me worthy
the loathing
the withholding
the pain
the castigation
the flagellation
the suppression
the obey
obey
obey
and still
I am this feral landscape
an orchard of gluttonous fruit trees
and was cast from the paradise of my body by the shame gods
banished from reveling in my own flourish
rolling hills
secret valleys
the tree-trunk thighs
heavy sugar-apple breasts
I am sick for the springs I missed while exiled into my head
as though a country separate from fleshy hips
It cost me years of knowing my own clay
and now that I have clawed my way back into this Eden
I intend to bask
O’, I intent to feast.