Believed my body was not my own.
Believed my body was tempting, evil.
Believed my body was only a tool.
Was too carnal for perfection, too ugly to be loved.
Was simply a gift for a matrimonial man,
A means to bear and raise children for the delight of God,
Was only for serving, working, and nothing more.
It spent years in hiding, feeling ashamed for wanting, for being anything less than ideal.
It spent years berating itself for being enticing, for being excited, for simply existing.
It was supposed to be pretty but not too pretty.
It was supposed to be thought of as a gift but also property.
It was supposed to be perfect while being told it never could be.
It endured years of ignorant abuse from all sides.
It learned to do what it was told without question and only mild objection.
It hobbled along, waiting for me to understand its purpose and devotion to me.
I never understood how powerful it was or how powerful it could be,
If only I loved it, owned it, and defended it.
This I now believe: my body is mine to worship, my body is mine to please.
My body is a beautiful piece of art, my body is a well oiled machine.
My body is mine and no one else’s, my body follows no rules.
My body is my expression, my body is strong and smooth.
My body is and my body isn’t.
My body belongs to me.
My body I love.
My body I treasure
My body is now completely free.