These freckles are constellations & galaxies on my face.
The creases and wrinkles written on my skin are an old script of the rivers, etching their secret stories across this body.
I carry vast plains from the nape of my neck to the curve of my back. You have yet to lay your hands upon a surface so soft. Though, you must remember, it is not your right.. it is a privilege, reserved for those who know just how to touch.
My teeth are made of the rocks, my tears from the ocean.
The darkness of my womb waxes and wanes as the Moon does.
My body is soft, and remains that way. There was a time I tried to alter and trim that landscape, I now love it for being a tender bed for you to lay your head upon.
Where my body has stretched and expanded has left crests, like waves across my curves. Scars to remind me where this temple has made space for more flesh, like fissures on the skin of the Earth, erupting, splitting open to reveal more supple land.
The rhythm of mountains, valleys, forests, and canyons dance within this body and what pumps through these veins are the ten thousand songs sung as the Earth dreamed me into being.
How then, do I adorn this precious body when I already carry the Earth and all Her elements within? Once in a while, I’ll find caterpillars and sticks in my hair, I suppose that will do.
It’s time to wake up, darling one - the Earth recognises you as one of her own, and She’s aching for you to remember.
You belong here.
Now walk like it.
