I wish I were two.
I wish I could wear footsie pajamas with bright pink and orange flowers, secure in my body and my being.
I wish I could cartwheel down the sidewalk without a worry as to what other people think.
I wish I knew my body only as the source to move my spirit. A vehicle to be tested and challenged and inspired. A means to whichever ends I dream up.
I wish I could slough off the self-consciousness and shame.
And more than that…
I wish she could stay two.
I wish she could stay in the world where her body belongs to her. Where she is judged on her merit and her brains and her spirit rather than the shape of her thighs or the sheen in her hair.
I wish she could keep her freedom and her strength and her wonder and her essence.
I pray she finds a way to do what I was never able to do.
I pray she keeps herself for herself. Giving away her love and her heart and her gifts but keeping sacred her esteem and her essence and her innate beauty.
I pray she refuses to let judgments sink inside deep.
I pray she keeps the deep recesses for herself. A gift to be shared but to be kept as well. Spread but not abandoned. Connected but not forgone.
And if enough of us do this and enough of them keep that, then perhaps this whole big world of ours could be healed. Maybe the answer isn’t in fixing others but in fixing ourselves. A whole big world healed by the power of the sacred self.
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