Conversations in my Body

Tremors, ecstacy, melancholy, and guilt come naturally to me, thus love, lust, loss, and life become hallmarks of my personal fluency. Wrath boils loudly, simmering down to what looks like peace. Sadness fades slowly, smoothly translating these tears into a vague form of happy.

How should I explain ups and downs that bother and banter with my body?

Chastity, once strung tightly in crevices unseen, unravels at the sight of beauty. Noise, battering my lonely mind at midnight, rattles my feet at the presence of this dishonest harmony. My hands disobey my orders and lose control, building monuments of love and a lifetime of effigies. My heart beats with disrespect to the monitor that hangs me by the neck, dissipating what’s left of the words I’ve written in old elegies.

Clarity has no power in places shrouded with smoke screens, overshadowed by the illusory songs intended for moments of sweet nothings.

There is no better comfort than in my own skin, intruders absent from the inevitable crime scene. I carefully pluck feathers from my wings, revealing the empty wishes I hide behind the seams. I long for the sensuality of the seconds no one can see. My body aches for one more flame to set my spirits on fire, trailblazing the possibilities of tomorrow that hopefully come to be.

For a glass that’s half-full-half-empty, I find myself in the arms of people, hoping they’re someone I could keep.

The truth is we do not own what should be free. Do right by the right to express love blissfully. Constraints, chains, shackles, and suffocation only reveal the painful scars that can’t bleed. Hand in hand, heart to heart, skin to skin, and soul after soul, I’ve come to a secondhand understanding of what love truly means.

After all, fear contributes nothing to the conversations in my body.