self-care

Layers

When I discover my true self revealed 
naked without a mask 
without culturally accepted clothing that clings to my curves 
extenuates my breasts and exposes my arms or legs, 
I am free from what binds me.

Although society will try to make me feel foolish 
embarrassed to even look upon my naked body in the mirror. 
The glass is never a true reflection but a juxtaposition. 
Whoever sees their true reflection except those reflected back in the eyes of another?

My lover’s desire 
My culture’s shame
How do I let it go 
to accept me as he does naked and true to himself?

Why do I have all these layers to shed before my true self has seen the light of day? 
Do I even recognize her? 
What’s in my mind’s eye and reflected back to me in the mirror are two very different things. 
Can I love the ideal me and the real me? 
Can I drop the story to be a certain image at all times regardless of what stage of life I happen to be in?

The man does not let outside influences interrupt his burning desire to meld into one. 
His lust and eyes tell me I’m something more than I see. 
Do I exist as he sees me naked and swaying to incite his excitement? 
Is that the true me? 
Or is it the one who breathes deep sighs 
as the clean sheets spread out neatly tucked around 
my body and mind relaxes and succumbs to the much-needed rest?

To recharge and feel comfort in one’s bed without interruption or distraction. 
To feel my bones and breath 
no one to interpret or criticize. 
It is mine and only mine to claim. 
In beauty, in rest, in wholeness fully alive. 
I can be here for just a moment.

A night under the moon. 
She and I are one and dancing with the stars 
not ashamed of who we are but embodying our true nature. 
When the black birds take flight in that early twilight, 
their beating wings do not make a mark across the darkened sky. 
Their beating hearts in unison as they soar across the moon 
only then illuminated before being swallowed back into the darkness.
self-care

The Blackberries

The blackberries
the quintessential fruit of summer.
On the brink of harvest
in the heat of morning sun.
They sit patiently
an offering.
Do I accept the invitation?

There is nothing like fresh fruit
the burst of flavor on my tongue.
The dark stained hands
from the fleshy bells.
On my chin and darkened my tongue.

The fruit is not forbidden
or only for the chosen few.
Only to those who happen to
look up at the sky
and notice
that there’s more than
meets the ordinary eye.

There is some effort.
I must confess.
Before you can savor the
reward of your labors.

It takes the body to the edge
just beyond reach.
With added vigor and strength,
I can reach what I desire.

It is now in my grasp
and my body relaxes and breathes.
Sighing as I place the dark bell into my mouth.
Yes, I’ll save some for later
and share the bounty.
But right now this is just for me.
This moment.
This effort.
This delicious reverie is mine to savor.
So I do.
Not caught up in agendas, past stories or future thinking.
Just the blackberries
The offering and
Me the willing recipient.

And I am filled with awe and gratitude
for the fresh delectable flesh.
Just mine.
All mine.

I touch the tree’s bark
and look up in the branches.
There is more than enough for everyone. For the birds, the insects, the squirrels and me.
All sharing a Thanksgiving feast.

The tree accepts all and turns away none. 
Is generous and sharing to all who visit her 
and enjoying her gift in her presence is the true gift.