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My Body As Home or What I Wish My Mother Knew


 photo iStock-502197229.jpg
by Arielle Gray
My body as a home feels
warm like the shine of the sun on slick skin
Feels like my mother’s arms after a long absence
My body as a home feels like
like ripe fruit on my tongue
feels like
I’ve bought this space
feels like paying emotional rent to exist in my flesh ain’t working no more
feels like wanting to shed my own skin ain’t worth it no more
My body as a home feels like
there ain’t nothing much holier
than this casing for my soul
Like I am a prism of light
Like I am how the universe starts
Like I am no longer coffin
Like something green can finally grow here
Like I finally know what its like to fall asleep
believing I am made of stardust
And earth
And more
Like, Now, this is hallow ground
like I will bring you to your knees
like the holy thing I am
This is sacred space nigga
and tithes are due
IOUs are no longer acceptable forms of payment
for this house
for this house is now home
and I now know
that being home in here
means there is no longer space for you
or for strangled roots
This body as a home
is a house
without you.

Arielle Gray is a Boston based freelance writer, graphic artist & music journalist. You can catch her stalking live shows around the city or eating Lucy's on Mass Ave.

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