Body Made Flesh

My hands are my favorite feature.  Long and slender, they spread between me and the world.  They have grown callus, touching and touched my hardship and resistance.  They are my lifeline to this world. 

My eyes have seen only a fraction.  Once twisted and warped by chemicals beyond my control, they were set right and aligned to view the world correctly again.  They still blur at the edges, creating clouds on sunny days, but I’ve learned to ignore the clouds and appreciate the sunshine.

My muscles have grown strong, pulled and pushed over a few years of hard work and sweat.  They scream at me from time to time but yield to my desires and become shaped to my goals.  They are a work in progress, in a process that will last the rest of my life.  I’m a clay yet to be sculpted. 

My skin hangs from my bones, yearning to be set free.  I wish to part with my flesh, change my body to fit myself. 

My feet are long and tired.  They make me an octopus when I walk, clinging to surfaces for better traction.  They have been broken and reset, made to hold me up, tall and proud.  They are my fractured foundation.

I am my body, at times.  Some days, I’m freer than my body.  Some days, I’m trapped in a flesh unwilling to adapt to my will.  I struggle to see the good in a body, the worth of flesh, the physical being contained in a cage of its own making.  I do not wish to rid myself of this cage but make it better with time and effort.  I am stronger than these irons bars that hold me.  I’ll reshape this cage into a being of my own making.  A self-made man.  I’ll create myself anew and walk among the world a new man.

I wrote this prose poetry piece the other day and I’d thought I’d share it here. I have an evolving relationship with my own body. I’m working out more and trying to shed pounds I gained in lockdown. I’m excited for this new chapter in my life.


Odd Vampire Out

NOTE: This is a writing exercise I did that I found way too funny, so I decided to share it. Enjoy.

Prompt: Think of an alternative vampire that survives on something other than blood. Write a story or scene based on this character.

Gustav was in heaven.  He had always been shunned by other vampires for being a glutton.  Unlike his kin, he did not survive off blood.  His lifeblood was butter.  A cruel curse from a traveling band of witches.  Standing in the entrance to the Iowa State Fair, he felt elation.

Famed across the world for its butter displays, Gustav considered the Fair his Mecca.  He’d dreamed of his pilgrimage from Europe to the distant land of Iowa for years since he’d been turned.  He’d been cursed for so long, left to live off discarded diary waste in his homeland.  In Iowa, butter was scared.

Traveling by night, the journey had been long and tedious, but he had finally arrived.  Covered head to toe in dark fabrics, he fought to avoid the August sun.  He came at first light, but the Fair didn’t open until 9.  He couldn’t enter without an invitation, although he believed a ticket counted.

He walked to the building housing his scared butter.  It was sealed and refrigerated to keep the product cool and firm in the summer heat.  Behind panes of glass, he beheld his life’s dream.

A life-size cow made of butter.  A bust of Mona Lisa made of butter.  A tiny village made of butter.  Butter as far as the eye could see.

An urge rushed through him and he used all this vampire strength to bust the glass, sending shards flying.  He jumped into the room, scaring the guests around him.

Ravenously, he grabbed handfuls of butter and stuffed them into his mouth, his fangs erect in excitement.  He slaughtered the butter cow and crushed the butter village.  He murdered butter Mona Lisa.  He was a wild beast, tearing through every display he could get his buttery hands on.

A shot rang out and Gustav fell to the ground.  From the crowd emerged a dark figured cloaked in unusual garments.

“My revenge is complete!” shouted the figure as he staked a piece of wood covered in butter through Gustav’s heart.  “For my beloved Bessie!”

Gustav burst into flames, melting the remaining butter around his corpse.  A cascade of melted liquid made the floors an oily mess.

Wilhelm von Glick III had finally slain the beast that had killed his beloved cow so many years ago.  His life’s mission complete, he collapsed on the spot and died from shear exhaustion.