Work Text:
I have a body. It’s cold and wet and generally displeasing. It holds my soul and it holds my brain. It holds my guts and it holds my heart. It’s clammy and uncomfortable, it’s sweaty and disgusting. My pores are filled with dirt, my hair gets greasy too fast. My breath is bad in the morning, and my feet freeze through the night. My arms are scarred, and my skin too pale. And you love my body.
You have a body. It’s stunning and gorgeous and basically perfect. It holds your soul and your brain. It holds your guts and your heart. It’s smooth and fair, it’s tall and confident. Your skin is clear, your hair is straight and long. Your teeth sparkle white, and your thighs have a gap. Your hands are slender, and your eyes are blue. Any you hate your body.
You are my shrine and I pray to you. I accept you fully as you do for me. I don’t understand your view of yourself, and you don’t understand my view of me. How can someone so divine not see that they are so? How can someone so regal see worth in someone so ugly?
My body is your temple, you rest inside me. You love my insides, you love my outsides. You tell me I’m perfect, and that my body is your love. When you enter me, sliding down my imperfect tongue and meeting my sticky throat, you don’t bat an eye and you don’t regret your choice. When you’re suffocated by my esophagus and pushed, you’re not pushed to a limit. You loosen your body and let it glide.
When my stomach hugs you, you hug back. When my stomach rumbles, you laugh. When my heart pounds, you blush. When I cry, you do too. When I beg for a reason for my life to have worth you tell me about my body.
You say.
Your body is my temple. And you are what I call home. When I enter you, my problems fade. When you hold me, I feel safe. When I’m inside, I’m inside you. I can’t be mad for what you do not choose to have. Your body is out of control, and I find it beautiful despite and because.
I ask.
Why do you find yours so wrong? Why do you find mine so right? When you're inside my world is whole, but a nagging nausea brings me down. A pinching sensation hurts my heart. I am not worthy of your love.
You sigh.
You have a body. It may feel cold or hot, it may look to your standard or not. But it is yours. And it should be loved. It runs and it eats and it jumps and it sleeps. It does all the things that keep you living, that bring you to me. If your body brings you to me, I love it. And I love you.
I cry.
How do you not accept yourself then?
You cry.
It is easier said than accepted.
My body is your temple. And your body is my temple. We will work to achieve our own sense of worth. One day I’ll be as important as I see you. For now, rest in me and sigh, learning to love what you were given and what you cannot change. This doesn’t have to be a cage. Express what you see to be you. Enjoy your existence, love.