“A beautiful woman delights the eye; a wise woman, the understanding; a pure one, the soul.” ~ Minna Antrim

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Dive in. 

I don’t need you to love my body;
my body is not who I am.
I need you to make love to my soul.
To love my body,
but not my essence,
is a shallow sort of love.
The kind of love that is saved
for the tired and fear-stricken,
the sort that can’t face their own
vulnerable humanity;
The sort that can’t bear to look pain
dead in the eye,
or find comfort in the pain
that comes with death—
the raw, reality of this life.
What do I even do with a love like that?
To love me for my body,
is to love a suitcase as if it couldn’t carry precious things,
or to love your car but not yourself.
To love me for my body,
but not my thoughts and voice,
is to silence fire in the dead of winter.
To toss trash out your window
as if there weren’t flowers blossoming in the garden below.
No,
I need to be loved for my soul,
because life is too short to sit idly
in the kiddie pool. 

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Author: Cecilia Mackie

Image: Blue is the Warmest Color still

Editor: Travis May