An Apology To My Body

An Apology To My Body | A Body Positivity Poem

An apology to my body

I’m sorry for endless empty 
stomachs filled with nothing 
but coffee grounds and ash. 
For burning your insides 
with bottles of liquor 
and broken glass.

I’m sorry for trying 
to claw out of you 
as if I were buried alive. 
Fingernails into your flesh 
trying to rid myself of you.

I’m sorry for carving train tracks
from razor blades and pooling 
blood beneath, hoping 
they would take me somewhere 
far from you. I’m sorry for 
the twelve inch gash on your thigh 
I splayed open like a butcher 
to a cows stomach.

I’m sorry for all the times 
I screamed at you and called 
you names like an abusive lover, 
white-knuckled in rage.

I’m sorry for all the people 
who roughed up your soft skin. 
They never deserved to know you 
the way I do.

I’m sorry for taking so long
in learning how to love you. 
I’m sorry I will forget 
how once again, always in
learning of how to love 
you stronger.

We began as one,
an archaic bond. 
You knew me before 
I knew my first breath.
Let me press yarrow 
to our wounds
and begin 
to mend.

'Mirror" by Sylvia Plath + A Writing Prompt

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful,
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

The poem above is by Sylvia Plath. Written with the mirror as the speaker, it gives the essence of great beauty and sadness. We perceive the user from the eyes of the mirror. Giving us only a brief glimpse into who the woman is, we are given enough information to understand what emotional turmoil she may be going through as she sees her own reflection. Plath gives tremendous power to the mirror. “I am not cruel, only truthful” showcases how often people despise what they see in the mirror but it is not something the mirror has control over. I have read this 5 times tonight alone and could analyze each line. Truly a stunning poem.

In my poetry class, we are currently writing a poem from the perspective of an object. The options are limitless: it could be a beautiful view or a disturbing view. It could be a candle or a lightbulb.

Creative prompt: write from the perspective of an inanimate object. Don’t worry about whether or not it has “deep” meaning. The options are limitless: it could be written from a dark and disturbing view or from a light and airy view. It could be a candle or a tunnel. Write prose or poetry. Write in your journal or type it up. Write one sentence or two. Share it in the comments below.

I’m thinking about making a poem + a prompt series. If you’re into the idea, tell me your thoughts here about it.

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Shayna Shattelroe

25 years old. Mama to Maddox. Word weaver. Lover of love. Coffee addict. Psychological science student. 

A woman of curious nature, my name is Shayna. I am wild & reserved. Humbled & proud. Quiet & clamorous. Strange & familiar. I live in the trees of New England typing away as lifestyle blogger. You can always find me with a coffee cup in one hand and a book in the other.

Blogging since 2005, I’ve had an innumerable amount of blogs on a vast number of platforms. Finally, I’ve found one to call home: The Lovely Cicada. This blog is a piece of myself I extend to you.