#queed

Your body is a temple built on the rubble of a monument to someone you never were.

Your body is… uncomfortable. It is crude, it is unfinished, it was not built with you in mind. (Children can do so little against the ravages of time.)

Your body is miraculous, it is a living breathing thing, a wondrous machine.

There is no deity here. There does not need to be.

You know yourself well enough without one, the freckle on your left thigh, the birthmark on your ankle, how the skin stretches around your scars, the pale of your palms, the unevenness of your gait.

In truth, your body is no temple.  You have tried and tried to raze the sanctuary built to a child you never were, a name that was never truly yours, a ghost synagogue to someone else’s false memory.

Please, do not rebuild it as a house of worship to an ideal pressed into your palm by strangers’ limitations.

If you build anything on your bones, my darling

Build a home.