Dear woman, love your belly. Wrap yourself in handwoven dresses; let starwhispers linger in your ears. Don’t dismiss your wisdom just because it’s incomplete. You learned how to tend your fireglow soul; you know flames don’t always equal heat; you know coals need companions. Offer your sinking eyes benedictions, sing psalms to their crinkles. Let your throat court gravity in a slow burn romance. Consider: no one can define your capacity for beauty. Will you choose your own loveliness? Blow kisses to your reflection every day? Who will teach your children to write love letters to themselves, if not you?
Related Posts
Love is such an amorphous word
You must be a ghost because some days ghosts are the only thing worth loving. I mean—young ghost, I don’t…
Talk to me about the letter H
Here is unshaped breath. Can I rename this sleeping air? This sound is an ocean, older than voice. It still…
Poem for a day when I cannot write
Respect that the words don’t know how to flow today, love. They congeal and coagulate. You can’t be part of…
