My Body

By Harshita Gupta

My hands wipe my tears

when I cry.

My stomach keeps me warm

with the food that makes me smile.

These legs take me

to my favorite places.

Yet a savage could say

that I am fat, skinny, tall, short, dark and fair,

as if I need to altered,

as if I need to be scared.

This spiral continues

until my pride

coils into grave,

I couldn’t even adorn it,

my heart is enslaved.

Every body blooms like flowers in garden,

each one with their own scent, beauty, and color.

They grow

even without your eyes.

This is not your billboard,

this is the holy vessel

in which my soul resides.

By Harshita Gupta