Most days I call this body of mine one in all the next; an argument, a conversation or silence. Some days it’s all three. My stomach dips right into a well-honed (even when I do say so myself) v-shape. Across my stomach lays the word ‘home’, tattooed into some pretty solid-ish abs. Whatever this body be, it all the time might be a house. A house that rattles, creaks, one which aches for renovation. For a change, to be re-upholstered. A house that might be warm and loving sooner or later, but just has a lot work to do immediately.
I can’t remember the last day I wasn’t completely aware of my body, mainly due to discomfort I feel existing in...
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