My body is a temple

By Amabel Mortimer

My body is a temple,
albeit destroyed.
Scarred and broken,
Rebuilt then bombed.

Three times and more,
each leaving its scar.
Stretched and stitched,
corruption within.

Who could worship here?
What is left to give?
It can be rebuilt, stronger, safer.
Yet, infused with a poison to hold it together.

I fear this temple,
but fill it with love.
To me it’s still sacred, awaiting its fate.
No longer a safe place,
I wait for ablate.

I wrote this one again right at the start of diagnosis, I think I was feeling let down by my body but knowing I had to still nurture it.”

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