My body is broken.
My tender skin whines at a light touch; my chapped lips crack painfully with a smile.
With each inhale my nose seems to crinkle in anticipation of the next bleed.
My tongue will not taste food, but wraps around the texture of morsels reminiscent of sand and twigs
Wounds of five weeks ago are arrested in time, red and refusing to further heal
My broken body refuses to take nourishment from food, hydration from water. It all passes quickly through.
When I want to move, my body is leaden and weary.
When I want to rest my body groans with aches or fidgets and races.
My body will not grow hair or healing cells, or taste buds.
My body replicates invasive unwanted tumor cells.
My body is broken, but my soul is strong.
My soul rejoices in the sunlight and the changing color of leaves.
My soul rests peacefully in the comfort of being surrounded by love.
My soul hums and sings and dances at the thoughts that can be thought, the ways we can understand.
My soul reaches out an aching heart to those hurting and afraid, and knows that it is strong enough to hold them and comfort them.
My soul is grateful for the sacrifices of those who allowed me education, sustenance, and comfort.
My soul adores the Lord who smiles down on me.
My body is a temple.
I will forgive my broken body so long as it fulfills it's most important task: housing and protecting my soul.
I will cleanse and nourish my body, though it rejects this supply.
I will gently stretch and strengthen the crying muscles.
I will rest the tattered limbs which refuse to heal themselves.
I will care for the brokenness knowing that my soul my soul my soul is safe and strong.
