My body,
my temple.
You holy instrument,
creation of the divine.
How I love and loathe you.
You sustain me,
I abuse you
My mind
at a seeming constant war with you.
We have moments
we are one.
In those moments are bliss.
I honor you,
I love you,
I see you as divine.
You are not a ruined canvas.
You deserve no poisoned thoughts.
You are a conduit for life
and you give life,
you house it in your womb.
Mind and body,
can there be peace?
Spirit breathes you,
warming,
enlivening.
But who am I?
Not the body,
destined to become ash.
Nor am I the mind.
I see both,
so I am neither.
Remaining constant,
I stay,
observing.
Tethered to my temple,
I am.