My
body is my holy ground. It's a sacred temple that my soul calls its
home. It's not to be degraded, or objectified, or turned into
something that exists solely for someone else's pleasure.
It's not
here for you to criticize or condemn.
It's not here for you to rate
on a scale of 1-to-10 or hot-to-not.
It's not here so I can work the
fat away or gain just a little more so I curve.
It's not here for me
to give birth with.
It's not hear for me to cover
up or hide for your comfort, I don't have to pretend it doesn't
exist.
It's not here for me to be ashamed by it. I don't have to hide
the stretch marks or the cellulite, and I don't have to hide my long
legs or big breasts.
I don't have to count every calorie or eat a
steak to show you I can hang with big boys.
I
can do with it what I please.
I can be passionate. I can be persistent. I can be lazy. I can dance and not care who watches.
I can run a marathon or I can sit on my couch and watch tv.
I can dress it up or dress it down.
I
don't need to shut my mouth or hold my tongue or watch my step. I can speak my mind.
Because
it's my holy ground. It's the way I feel the world and see the
sunsets and smell the flowers. I'm hearing, thinking, and feeling and I will not let that be ignored or glossed over or pushed
aside. I refuse to be shamed, I refuse to stand down, I refuse to be
made smaller because of what I don't have that I should have or what
I do have that captures your attention. I refuse to operate by your
rules. I refuse to look down on other women who have “less” or
“more”. I refuse to be played around with, or to be told that I
make myself a plaything. I'm not here for you. I never was, and I
never will be.
I'm
here for me.
And
if that makes you uncomfortable, that's ok. Because it isn't about
you.
And
I'll wear a bikini if I want to.
I'll
work out in a sports bra if I want to.
I'll
visit a topless beach to feel the sun on my skin and the water on my
chest.
I
don't owe my body to anyone, and I'm not defined by how you see it.
It's sacred, it's beautiful.
And you were wrong when you told me it was dangerous. You were wrong when you told me it needed to be covered. You were wrong when you made it anything less than the beautiful gift it is.
I refuse to live that way anymore. I want to feel the sun on my skin.
(In response to a prompt from story sessions, which you can subscribe to here: http://eloranicole.com/)
