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.
