BODY

Ok... this time I decided that I should follow the prompt though I couldn't get that inspired (I mean, I don't think that the outcome, the poem down below, is the best I could write, but I guess I' m not that bothered by that). The "body" as an issue is so interesting and controversial because there are so many opinions about it, but all of them come around two main scopes. Some neglect it and some praise it. I support the latter perception.
There are religions that tell people to starve themselves and punish their bodies and make it suffer so that they can find peace and salvation at the after life. There are magazines and the media that force young girls in a very sly way to go skinny. There are people who feel ugly and can't stand themselves because the picture they have in their minds about how they should look, it's not the one they face when they look at the mirror. And there are those who declare that the body is the temple of the soul and so on and on.
For me, the body is a tool, a vehicle, a medium to feel and express my feelings, a wise mechanism and so many other things I can't think of right now....Anyway, the poem that comes after was written not only because I wanted to overcome my last afternoon tendency to stay idle by using this way as an exercise for my bored brain but primarily because I wanted to find out which my aspect specifically is about the theme and how I could express it through this form....


It could most likely be this

They tried to hide their emotions
In scraps made of cotton or silk
And for a while
They covered their weaknesses
By working out countless hours at the gym

Neglect and punishment
But they’re still at the same skin
Wise but hurt from junk food and nicotine
If only they could take a moment and let it speak

I wonder if they never had a scar
Which made them seem special and unique
I wonder if they’ve never been the lovers
Who seem like one person while they sleep

So obscure, so beautiful,
So powerful
Like almost, as a small miracle is

I wonder if they never had a wound
Which healed alone, just by the help of time
I wonder if they’ve seen the mothers
Who hold their newborns for the very first time

So close, so mysterious,
Such tense
Like almost, as electricity is

It could be this
Nothing but pure electricity…

It could most likely be this…