It has taken me too long to love this body:

My lush oasis in a barren dune.

Though I still pick it apart,

Cut it with words,

To bleed through my art,

I relish the kiss of the sun on my face in the bright afternoon.

My soul is a violent tempest,

Raging over a wildflower fallow.

And though often I feel that what's burning within

shines out through frosted glass,

It is my feet that bind me to the hallowed Earth and my fingers that brush through the grass.

And my soul alone could not feel the sting

Of the frigid winter freeze,

Nor my spirit inhale the sweet blossoms of spring

That are ferried to me by the breeze.

Then it matters not that this vessel will fade,

So insidious thoughts I shall spurn.

It is from the atoms of stars I was made,

And to the stars I will return.