My dearest, most tortured body,
For the way you rise to my command, I thank you. We travel so many roads, you and I. From the mundane to the spectacular, your scars and curves and injuries and grace follow. Your grace.
My dearest body, which endured such intrusion, which bled in a way no 17 year old body should bleed, and survived- you beautiful triumph. You beautiful nightmare, fraught with illness, walking through the daily fire of a flow of sweet blood. You do not let being diabetic kill you, dear body. You are fighting your newest enemy, tooth and nail. A fragile warrior, my body. My only body. You grow less sweet as days pass, as we decide to move, you and I.
Thinnest lines where collagen has failed, paint roadmaps of my hatred on you, dear body. For that, I apologize. For the alabaster of you deserves to be unblemished, but it is not. When his hands reach for you, to cup your curves to seek your breast to touch your face, dear body he feels your beauty. He feels your comfort your warmth and your heat. He feels your love, dear body can you be one with the sentiment?
I watch you grow ever smaller, sometimes in ounces, sometimes in pounds and I marvel at your resilience. I am in awe of how you move in space, dear body. I marvel that you could have bled to death on the coldest of tile floors, yet you kicked. You fought. You won. I pledge to you, my most precious vessel, to take you into more tender care. You have served me so well, I wish now to serve you.
Oh you, dear body, with my mother’s hands and my father’s nose. How you travel with me, how you love me though I’ve abused you. Let us be one now, dear body. I will listen to your needs, and respond.
Thank you, constant warrior. Thank you.