You stand before me
a creature of flesh and blood
breath and bone
conceived in the wet heat
of your mother’s womb
thrust into the world
by the strength of her muscles
fed by the milk of her breast
and the fruit of the living soil.
Yet you stand before me
and loudly proclaim
that you are not of this Earth
that this flesh is an illusion
or a foul temptation
corrupting your soul.
I say
bullshit.
If you really believe that
then feed your flesh
to the crows.
They will cackle in delight
at the taste of your steaming, bloody meat
and it will bring them more joy
than you’ll ever find
with your attitude.
Yes, the clay of your flesh
is sculpted by the unseen hands
of your mind and heart and spirit.
But you are a work of art
and art is a process
and you are the process
the entire process
including the clay.
I don’t forsake my flesh.
I embrace my flesh.
Sometimes the muscles
are stiff and twisted
and the joints are disjointed
and the jolts of pain
shoot through my body
like a bolt of lighting
splitting the trunk of a gnarled oak.
But even in these moments
of writhing and trembling
clenching and puking
I claim my flesh as my own.
Because I am
a creature of flesh and blood
breath and bone
conceived in the wet heat
of my mother’s womb
thrust into the world
by the strength of her muscles
fed by the milk of her breast
and the fruit of the living soil.
And the more I embrace my flesh
the more it embraces me.
My emotion and passion
stop being things that happen to me
and start becoming who I am.
I am the rise and fall
of my chest
as my breath
flows in and out
of my body.
I am the gentle tapping
or furious pounding
of my beating heart.
I am the flash of heat
that rises in my muscles
to meet a cold wind.
I am the feeling of hands
flowing through hair
fingers tracing across skin
eyes and lips meeting
arms and legs intertwining
as the pulse quickens
and the blood flushes the flesh
and ecstasy rises between us.
I am that flesh
and I am that ecstasy
and I stand before you
to proclaim that our flesh is divine
to proclaim that the bliss of our flesh
is worth every moment of pain.
If you don’t like your flesh
then feed it to the crows
but don’t stand there telling me
that my flesh is an illusion
or a foul temptation
corrupting my soul.
I know better.