The body is the target of attack, and a place of shelter. It can be a loving shine or an ill-fitting hell hole. It sends us pleasure and pain in reaction to the world. We live in it or out of it. We hate it, we love it. We treat it and punish it. We decorate it a million times in a million ways. We shrink, enlarge, ink, pierce, stretch, wound and shape it. We trap it, and let it free. It is the source of strength, or a justification for self-sabotage. It is us, it is not us. It is just me, it is the whole world. The world starts where my skin stops. The world is here, beneath, ingrained in my skin.