A Shrine
The mirror laughs
She points, giggles
Scoffs at aged legs
Mocks a lowly chest
Jeers at a pouch
Belies hips that jiggle
Legs that carried the load
Hips waver
Scorns a lumpy rear
Her view limited
A picture in time
She can’t envision
The joy, the struggle
What looks like less
Is actually more
My aging body
I’ve come to adore
A well-earned badge
A life lived hard
My silhouette doesn’t
Define me
Or speak of worth
The value I hold, endearing
The mirror has no regard for
A chest that sustained a nursing child
A cupped belly carried a soul
A body, a wonder
Worn in the wear
It carries my mind
My thoughts and
Cares
My body, my temple
To be adored
Lovely and lived in
She’s a shrine not a show
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Author:
Katie B. (
Offline) - Published: March 15th, 2026 12:46
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
A body a shrine that ages sometimes with patina and sometimes with rust. A lovely write about feeling at home with oneself. Lovely Katie
Happy Sunday, Katie. This carries a powerful honesty…moving from the harsh voice of the mirror to the deeper recognition of a life lived. The shift from criticism to reverence gives the poem its strength. By the end, the body becomes something sacred rather than judged. Beautifully expressed, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you kindly!!
Most welcome, my friend. My pleasure.
Fine words Katie, the beauty of us is within our hearts and minds.
Andy
Yes and thank you!
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