19-22

there is something rather big about wholeness.

to meet the entirety of one's own self where you stand

with the palms of your feet pressed against the belly of the earth.

you can feel her as she breathes against your skin,

bare foot, back, chest, and naked bending against the light

like fingertips scraping against the stars.

there is something that writhes under skin.

sometimes you can see it - feel it, a great expansiveness curling into your chest - 

all of it burning in reckless abundance and white-light brilliance

that seems to look like you.

passive impulsivity breaks the seams of smoke

and smears on your forehead where there are cracks

(the whole of your shell seems like it's splitting

and you try not to impede the growth).

there are creases where your eyes fall,

opaline and crescent paling and cobalt,

ebb of rib where breath meets bone

and swells and seeps phantasmic into chest,

an extrapolation of body into heart into sky

that almost tastes like absolution.

do not be afraid of it.

one day you will see yourself and say "this is beautiful" - 

color yourself like water and plant yourself in the moon.

let your baobab roots run thick enough to burst 

and do not run from the implosion.

do not be afraid to collide with the enormity and absolve into it.

here is whole.

here is you.

here is home.