Is my body perfect? Perfect? What does that word even mean?
My body is not a temple because even temples crumble when the earth shakes, my body is the tree whose roots go so deep in the ground that no amount of rain or storm can deracinate it.
My body is not the deep blue sea just like the pictures always portray. No, my body is the ocean’s wrath. Strong, powerful and determined to tear apart every mountain that stands in my way.
My body is not the soothing drizzle that lets you walk on the side of the road. It is the thunder and the storm that churns your insides and doesn’t let you step outside.
My body is not the zephyr that you stand and feel on your face and in your hair, it’s the tornado that will blow away your entire existence and wouldn’t care to look back.
My body is not just the com-mixture of flesh and bones, my existence comes from the explosion of stars. So, when the time comes I shall explode to form another.
I lie here and ask myself, if my body is all of these things, does it still need to be perfect?
No, because my body is not perfect and will never be, for it shall be what it always have been, explosive.
Muse: Nimisha Verma