Here's a very rough poem, inspired by a re-shaping exercise I helped facilitate with CUAV. I'll definitely be doing some more work on it later.
a poem in three parts
I’m sitting in shackles carved from the wood of a judge’s gavel, my body so broken and bruised that I don’t know how to find the truth in this place where they wrap up toxins in truth-colored packages and serve it to us just the same. If I close my eyes and smell these shackles, I might think they were on the trunk of a tree, but there’s nothing natural about the way they bind my wrists and dig at my bones. What can I learn from courts that police women’s bodies, that ban ethnic studies and sex education, except that my body is a criminal, too dark and dangerous to be free of these chains? This body is supposed to be the enemy. But it’s the only one I’ve got.
Even with my body broken and under lock, I find more truth within my skin than in any war or prison. There is truth in trembling that comes not from fear or weakness but from knowing. I open my mouth and there is no jail cell that can lock up my voice, no bombs louder than my words. I am still broken. I am still bruised. But when I dare to reach out I find these shackles aren’t as strong as they used to be. And I find the soft touch of healing at my fingertips, within my reach.
I know why they fear my body. There is more strength in me than in all the world’s militaries. I know I am whole, for my wounds may be their work but my body is my own. My body is my own, did you hear me? I said my body is my own. And I trust in my body to find my truth.