Baring Free

Our bodies are breaking.

Our bodies are looking in mirrors.

Our bodies are crying to be touched by all hands.

Bodies lean to the side.

Bodies scream with wet pride and fear.


On Earth we are animals.

It is touch that places us here.

Not just the kind you feel, but the kind you know

with fingers caressing our innermost bones.

I feel the same fingers from before this body I am in now,

and again, and again before,

becoming each now and then distantly known within one common ground.


We are the infinite souls unbounded to breathe and fly free

so why not share our breath

and allow each of us to believe in our bodies as sacred?


We are made of the same dirt with different beats in different heats spinning with what

equally hurts.


It is the beauty in love that makes it all worth

baring our bodies to be scraped and purged

before that love becomes endless in the skies around us

and that beauty becomes faceless shining boldly beneath mud.


Our bodies are naked.

Our bodies are bare.

Our bodies are trying to be touched not by hands.

Bodies breathe. We don’t hide.

Bodies leave to defy all fear.


Sophia Elizabeth Cox, USA


I was not sleeping, with my cheek

pecking kisses

on the slabs of a bench

when I watched you walk by.

I was not close

but twenty feet

from the eyes of your head, and you looked up

to be a pale, almost sickly sight that most others would turn from,

even dread,

and you made a glance at me as clear as ice.


It was oily ice

from your oily eyes sticking to mine,

spreading clearly




like ears being told what it is being said.


You said,


“don’t listen with your ears, but your heart.

don’t see with your eyes but your ears.

think with a head that could never be dead

and be weary of what’s fallen from your fears,”


and you didn’t even open your mouth.


So I shed a few layers,

and I sat up to watch you go.


You turned right off into the trees.


Sophia Elizabeth Cox, USA


The children are on fire. The children are on fire, the children are on fire!


They provoke it to grow more passionate,

and they prod at it to prove their power.

They press for their existence by asking why the flame flickers

or spreads or combusts or dwindles down to a mere memory of the past…


“How far can the red line be drawn?” we ask

as the child inside holds our crayons against the edge daring ourselves to burn further.


We are on fire!


with a redness boiling inside of us to behold our bodies to stand with integrity,

to be rooted by energy, and to fully feel the passion in love and rage.


We are on fire!


The redness illuminates our cores like the light of a lightning bug showing us the way

to belonging.


We are on fire!


Redness bleeds from our spines like lava leading us to the vitality of the ground

which is our animal home where nourishment is in the core.


With volcanic confidence

the children

climb trees,

dig holes,

and play on the ground


like fire.


So the redness is young,

and like a flame,

can always be reignited.


Sophia Elizabeth Cox, USA