I really like this Margaret Atwood poem. It's one of my favorites. I thought of the part about bodies on the way home for some reason, about how they don't lie or tell the truth and couldn't figure out what poem it was from and was happy when I found it. I was thinking about it more in relation to my own body, like how I try to interpret what it's telling me and I just can't.

We are hard on each other

Margaret Atwood

Listen

i)

We are hard on each other
and call it honesty,
choosing our jagged truths
with care and aiming them across
the neutral table.

The things we say are 
true; it is our crooked 
aims, our choices
turn them criminal.

ii)

Of course your lies
are more amusing:
you make them new each time.

Your truths, painful and boring
repeat themselves over & over 
perhaps because you own
so few of them

iii)

A truth should exist,
it should not be used
like this. If I love you

is that a fact or a weapon?

iv)

Does the body lie
moving like this, are these 
touches, hairs, wet 
soft marble my tongue runs over
lies you are telling me?

Your body is not a word,
it does not lie or 
speak truth either.

It is only
here or not here.