My body is clay. My body is sculptor’s wax, child’s plasticine. I am the sculptor. I am the child. My own child shaping my form of my clay. Of my body.

I am changeable and unalterable, I shrink and expand. I am thin. I am thick. Cold and frozen. Warm and bending.

My body will always be- united and divided, torn and whole. I will leave stains and no marks. My body will leave marks and no stains. The clay will linger and come off.

I’ll choose for myself when I’m ready to shape. I’ll shape when I’m warm. I am warm.

______________________

Our body is night. We exist, together, not seeing the connection. But together, we share one, a bond that is invisible in the sun, tangible under the moon.

Alone on the boulevard, under the streetlamp, away from my house and away from your house, I feel lost. You are lost. In our isolation, we unite, different corners of the earth come together. Darkness hides my nationality, your race. My culture, your class. My language, your gender. I can’t see the image of you. You can only feel me.

It starts drizzling. The air is cold, the wind is biting. The shop signs transcend the stars. But the doors to these malls are all locked. They are closed- no hiding place is granted. I find a 24-hour open supermarket. The warmth of fluorescent lights crawls under my skin. You carefully pick your purchase, slowly, and methodically, as if your life depends on it. It doesn’t. But looking busy gives me an excuse to stay inside as long as possible. But the cashier checks out your items, gives you a bag.

And then we are back

To the lonely, harsh reality

I am alone

You are alone

Outside, in the darkness of the city, we are the same. Our body is night.

Darkness unites us, despite the despair. Disregarding the void. It is filled by the night. Disregarding all voids. They are filled by the night.

Our body is night,

Silent and cold.

Without sight,

the differences lolled,

I know we are better.

We are right.