Reckless

How much we make of ‘wellness’, ‘health’ and ‘wholeness’; The ideal body, the unblemished form, How deeply we despise and hide our weakness And worship all the world thinks strong and firm. And how each facile photoshopped appearance Haunts and accuses children as they grow Until they pine for their own disappearance And waste away and never tell their woe. But you have never fallen for this idol, You ‘had no form or beauty’, hurt and shamed, A stumbling block, a mockery, a scandal, You live with the rejected and the maimed. Don’t count me with the strong and tanned and thin, Count me with the maimed, but count me in. - Malcolm Guite