This Body is Gift

A body—

not sculpted marble,

not made for praise,

but for presence.

A map of motion,

a home of breath,

a vessel for laughter,

and shelter for grief.

It bends, it breaks,

it heals in quiet hours,

it speaks in aches

when the world forgets to listen.

Do not trade its worth

for shrinking mirrors

or hungry trends

that worship erasure.

It is not waste

if it rests.

It is not weak

if it weeps.

This body

is a borrowed miracle—

not to be punished,

but to be partnered with.

Walk in it kindly.

Feed it with care.

Clothe it in respect,

not shame.

It may not always carry you easily,

but it carries you still—

through storms,

through sun,

through years you feared you wouldn’t survive.

This body,

your first and final home—

precious,

not perfect,

and more than enough.