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  • Writer's pictureErin

the temple that houses my soul.

I'm sorry to everyone who

has told me my body is a temple,

that I should cherish it.

what a waste of words on a girl

who's always tried to tear hers

to the ground.

it may still be standing,

but the scars are deep enough

to never heal.

the walls are cracking,

the floor is falling through.

it's dangerous here in the temple

that is me.

it's why when people get close

enough to take a look inside,

they usually don't cross the

threshold of the front door.

the mind is too dark.

the soul too weary.

the heart too cold.

they're never prepared,

leaving their flashlights and

jackets at home.

so, instead of making themselves

comfortable, they turn back around

and head towards a brighter shelter.

and with each person

who slams the door shut again,

the paint begins to peel

and the ceiling starts to cave.

I'm sorry if you told me my body

is a temple.

maybe it is.

maybe it's just not for the beautiful

elegancy of self righteous people,

but instead for the brokenness

and shadows of those

who's temples fell before me.

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