All the lines of all the things that bind us during the day criss-cross from place to place on our bodies, creating a map of constriction. Those faint indentations in our skin. Beside them, in-between, and beneath are the marks of our lives. The stretch marks on our breasts and bellies and thighs that say we have been given birth and nourished our young. The bruises and callouses that say we have worked hard. The scars that say we have risked and challenged ourselves. The tattoos we have placed there to decorate and liberate.

Our bodies are beautiful canvases that are only clean in the womb. They begin taking on the imprints of our choices and experiences the moment we slip from our mothers. Every cut, hand print, gash, freckle, burn…everything we do to it – it retains the story of that moment.

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