+++ BODY WITHOUT ALTARS +++ -> AMEN
The body is not marble.
It was never a statue.
Whoever told you about a flawless Venus
has never seen the cracks up close.
Skin tastes like warm iron and tired light,
like sheets that hold onto breath
like forgotten shells.
Every curve is a word mispronounced,
every fold — a tongue that stumbles
and right there becomes true.
They raised us on perfect white,
on the polished silence of finished things.
But you—
you are noise.
You are Artemis’ scratch when she misses her aim,
you are wine spilled carelessly over knees,
you are sweat that tastes like night
and broken promises.
They want you smooth,
without history,
without weight.
They want you surface.
But your body is a clandestine archive:
there are hands that once trembled,
days when you were emptier than the sky,
and others when you were too full
to remain inside yourself.
So you broke — yes.
So you saw yourself crooked — of course.
And?
Anaïs would say:
there is nothing more indecent
than a perfection that has never lived.
Your pressing thigh,
your spilling hip,
your shoulder closing in
like a door that has learned to defend itself —
these are not mistakes.
They are memory taking shape.
Society measures you with dead rulers,
numbers without a soul,
mirrors that do not know how to see.
It says: “fix yourself.”
You answer: “I feel.”
And to feel
is already an act of rebellion.
—
So stay.
Inside this body that does not apologize.
Touch your imperfections
the way you touch a scar:
not to erase it,
but to remember you survived.
It won’t be easy.
It won’t be elegant.
Sometimes it will hurt —
a precise, almost lucid pain.
But it is yours.
And that is enough.
—
Rise like this:
not perfect,
not finished,
not compliant.
Whole.
And if you must pray to anything,
let it be this:
that you never become
smooth enough
to forget
who you had to be
to get here.
#poeminpictures
#womenbody #truebeauty #scars #bnwphotography #womenpower💪
V