I promise,  
I have tried every method the body zealots insist will make me worthy  
the loathing  
the withholding
the pain
the castigation
the flagellation  
the suppression
the obey  
and still  
I am this feral landscape
an orchard of gluttonous fruit trees
and was cast from the paradise of my body by the shame Gods
banished from reveling in my own flourish
rolling hills
secret valleys
the tree trunk thighs
heavy sugar apple breasts.
I am sick for the springs I missed while exiled into my head  
as though a country separate from fleshy hips
It cost me years of knowing my own clay
And now that I have clawed my way back into this Eden
I intend to bask

O’ I intent to feast. 

                                    Text by Rachel Wiley and Visual by Ruby McVicar