You didn’t build your bones.
You didn’t shape your lungs.
You didn’t teach your eyes to blink
or your blood to run.
But still, you act like the master.
You punish the body,
starve it, shame it,
ignore its pain.
And it still shows up.
It breathes when you forget.
It fights for you when you give up.
It carries your sorrow without a word.
You blame it for being tired,
for being sick, for being slow,
but never once thanked it
for healing every night.
This body is not a thing.
It is not yours.
It is a gift,
a temple you forgot.
So, eat real food, at the right time, without rushing.
Move your body every day, not to chase a shape, but to keep it alive.
Rest when you’re tired, not when it’s convenient.
And respect this body,
not by thinking about it,
but by caring for it,
like the temple it is.
You didn’t shape your lungs.
You didn’t teach your eyes to blink
or your blood to run.
But still, you act like the master.
You punish the body,
starve it, shame it,
ignore its pain.
And it still shows up.
It breathes when you forget.
It fights for you when you give up.
It carries your sorrow without a word.
You blame it for being tired,
for being sick, for being slow,
but never once thanked it
for healing every night.
This body is not a thing.
It is not yours.
It is a gift,
a temple you forgot.
So, eat real food, at the right time, without rushing.
Move your body every day, not to chase a shape, but to keep it alive.
Rest when you’re tired, not when it’s convenient.
And respect this body,
not by thinking about it,
but by caring for it,
like the temple it is.