What do we do when we hate our bodies?
A good coat helps.
Some know how to pull off a hat.
And there are paints, lighting, knives, needles,
various kinds of resignation,
the laugh in the mirror, the lie
of saying it doesn't matter.
There is also the company we keep:
surgeons and dermatologists,
faith healers and instruction-givers,
tailors of cashmere and skin
who send their bills for holding
our shame-red hands, raw
from the slipping rope,
the same hands with which we tremble
ever so slightly, holding novels in bed,
concentrating on the organization
of pain and joy
we say is another mirror,
a depth, a conjure in which we might meet
someone who says touch me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well articulated piece of poetry, insightfully penned in poetic diction with conviction. The reflection of self in the mirror is an existential reality that one has to come to terms with: a resolve that is infinitely essential for self confidence and peace of mind. Thanks for sharing Tom. Please read my poem THE OBSESSIVE AGONY OF LUST.