To My Body

To My Body:

Do you remember when we were little, when we would run and play with reckless abandon?

How we rolled down hills and skipped though grass,

The way we spun in the sunlight until sky and earth blurred into one?

We have not been friends in a while, you and I.

We have waged war against each other for years – our shape, our size, our sex. This has taken its toll.

You have begged me, “rest, for I am weary.”

In turn I called you weak when you were strong.

There is only so much strength one alone can muster.

You have carried me from the innocence of youth, kept me safe, kept me alive.

This too, has taken its toll.

Like the crumbling foundations of a poorly laid house you are bending beneath the weight of a burden I cannot lay to rest.

You do not understand that we cannot stop.

With each painful step I hear you beg, I hear you cry: please, let me rest.

I hear you, but I cannot. We cannot.

Bruised, broken, and battle weary we must carry on.

We must.