Flash Fiction: Emergence
My body is not a temple. It is more.
It is a juniper tree bending in a storm, refusing to break.
My skin is not a canvas. It is marred and calloused.
It is a burnt field growing through the ashes.
My stomach is not a unit of value.
It is a tower of rocks, its folds merely the space between them.
My uterus is not an incubator.
It is a serpent shedding its skin, outgrowing itself and its audience.
My body is not a temple. It is everywhere.
It is everything.