Is my body not my own?


Though am I the one that formed it?

It was not I who breathed His very life into something yet unformed but not unknown


Always, Always seen

He breathed into a womb that would later discard this body, this soul and life that He created

My body knows Him as He knows my body

His breath rushed over my breasts as they gave nourishment to a girl He always knew I would have

He knows the womb that carried her, that loved her and longs to love again

He knows each scar

Each wound

The deep cuts made

If not by me; by another

He knows, loves and aches over the body that is degenerating

That has stopped functioning

His breath encapsulated the room where the team mapped out the delicate surgery

He was there

He had to be

When they took away bone that He laid; muscle and ligament gone

To protect, to heal

He cried

Pieces of me that in a struggle I long to have back

Somehow wish them back

Yet does He not know?

Does He not watch my every aching move and painful sob for this thing to go away

Does He not sob with me?

Skin I live in, that I possess feels lost to me

Yet not lost to Him

As Always,