Corpus | Poems that Suck

This is my body. 

36.
33.
36.

Cellulite on the backs of my thighs, 
a highway of broken capillaries,  
mapping the pot holes of cottage cheese.

This is my body.

Tits beginning to sag with age as
the years stretch out longer with
nipples scarred by youthful piercings
when we all believed we were indestructible. 

This is my body.

With a belly that is no longer flat, 
but mushes like soft bread;
an effect of diminishing estrogen. 

This is my body.

Criss-crossed with scars, tattoos
and crows feet which whisper the
secrets that I've forgotten long ago.

This is my body. 

As I stand naked before a mirror
and will myself to love it though
it juxtaposes what mass media dictates.

This is my body.

Mine to love, 
hate, 
exploit, 
destroy, 
sanctify.

This flesh and bone. 
This is home. 
This is where I live.