Writing In My Naked Flesh

A few years ago I decided to write out the contents of my soul. There was no particular motivation or even discernible inspiration—just simply a sudden inclination on my part to express my poetic melancholy. The effort resulted in nearly a hundred pieces that were bits and pieces of myself scattered in a few succinct lines. After that episode—silence.

This silence lasted for a couple more years until I decided to express myself again in another poetic outburst. In these years, I never really envisioned myself as a personal or autobiographical poet or writer for that matter, but over time that changed. Something happened from that point to now where I became increasingly comfortable in exposing my naked flesh. This exposure metaphorically was both liberating and frightening. So frequently we are taught to reframe from showing our nudity—both the physical and interior form for fear of obscenity. It is obscene in the physical sense, because we have been forced to fear and loath our own nakedness in sensuality. It is obscene in the emotional sense, because we are taught not to give a damn about anything outside of our own sphere—and too much exposure can makes us uncomfortable with this unwarranted knowledge. So we cover up in both senses—and dare exposure only to those we deem worthy.

This however is a denial of the motivation behind this fear of revelation. It is an aversion to vulnerability—ours and others. That the two are intrinsically linked, cannot be overlooked, because even when we are witnesses to other’s nudity, feelings of discomfort arise in our being due to this vulnerability—this openness that we did not feel was warranted. What do we do with the nakedness of another soul?

For me, I find my liberation in writing and in this act I am free to be naked. The obscenity doesn’t touch me, because it exists outside of me. If I can touch the vulnerability of others through my vulnerability then I am truly free.

In my nudity

My nakedness is a mask

For the womb of my heart

I am covered in skin

So that I may not bleed out, my soul

I am lined with curves

So that my beauty may hide in disguise,

And even my smile

Is a dance to avert my inner song of sorrow

I do not need to disrobe

To bare the nakedness of my flesh

I merely need to stand unnoticed,

And my heart will be wide open

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