I am my body and my skin.

I’m my body.
My body is my space.
In my body
with my body
I sing
I think
I laugh
I cry
I dream
I narrate
I love
and live.

My body is
physical
social
cultural
political.
My body
is playful and cynical
ironic and dramatic
obedient and wild.
My body
is my home
is my country,
not a house
for someone’s
anger
need,
pleasure
delight
judgment.
My body is multiple,
it doesn’t always fit
my mood
my desire
my wish.
It doesn’t always approve
my choice
my statement
my ideals.

I am my body.
When naked, my body speaks all the languages,
even the ones which human memory can’t recall
when dressed it can speak one language only
faltering on starchy letters and harsh words;
when naked, my body speaks with honesty and compassion
humble and human,
when dressed my body masters excuses to delay the conversation
making it stiff in a geometrical understanding;
naked my body feels home
dressed is always in a foreign land;
in my poetry it fits completely
naturally
intensely
motherly
unconditionally
unexpectedly.

In my body I find the world projected
in its most unpredictable symptoms
in my body I foster peace and revolution
I grow anger and forgiveness
like sides of the same seed,
for the better end -
reconciliation.

In my body I fight a hundred wars:
against the fathers
who assumed I had to reduce my flesh to look appealing
carrying the custom in silence
to avoid the shame thrown on me
if tempted to oppose to the very blade of pain.
Because I fight,
now, the cut that every month bleeds between my legs
is my poem dedicated to all the girls and women
who can start considering making a choice
over being subjected to someone else’s
regardless the rejection they would face from their own people
- time is a chance that must be given to everyone.
I fight
against my husband who decided to wear the crown of gendered power
and for this, dug his armed body in my secret garden
opposite will and wish.
I fight for my son and my daughter
To oppose the standards they’re trapped into.
In my body I stand for you
as you carry heavy weights at the edge of your possibilities
trying to connect the RIGHT in your disconnected life
In my body I speak for you
since fear has made you orphan of words to express your SELF.
In my body
I name the nameless
I translate the unknown
I uncover the unseen
I clean my myth out of the dust of time
And re-write a new epic on the footsteps of my mother’s.
I do not prostitute my body
for any idea which doesn’t grow
from my mental condition
...whatever it is.

In my body
I am WHO
and WHERE
no WHAT
WHEN happens within me
all the time
a life time

I’m my body and my SKIN.
I wear my skin
soft
rough
cold
warm
thick
skin
to embrace the world around me
to welcome the freezing indifference
as well as the kindest attention.

I wear my skin as a shield
cutting crossing lines quivering in assumption
I dive in the womb of the city
that’s where I breath in the eyes of the unforgiving people
who never grope for an understanding
streets keep going their ways
parallels undo
snatching pics from
peeping dreamy minds
tangents cross the very limit of my thoughts
I’m not afraid of the shadows
nor of the blustering wings
of an unfed crow
waving in a blind sky
with my body I unpack all my fears
and spread them around
true
in my mortal and imperfect state

Undoing the fatal demand
that world endorse
I plot my body and my skin
to engage with others

I’m my body and my skin
and refuse the central
I am my body and my skin
and inhabit edges

Perspectives matter …

I wear my skin
and meet you at the corner.
Corners are set for thinkers and beggars
observers at the backstage
where threads are undone
regardless of the script.

There you‘ll find me.

* Valentina Acava Mmaka is a writer and human rights activist. See more of her work: http://valentinammaka.blogspot.com; http://thecut-lostrappo.blogspot.com