my body is a temple,

not a battleground

for other women to fight in.



my body is a temple,

not a pit stop for other men,

that needs a place to rest in for the night.



my body is a temple,

not a critical text you can analyse,

and assume judgement like a book you never read.



my body is a temple,

not a pack of wild animals,

aimed to be restrained and taught what to do.



my body is a temple,

and it tells a story that no one

except for me will ever understand.



my body is a temple,

and it will not be disrespected.

like a religion, i'll learn to worship it.

I get flashes of our first meeting

like airplanes you mistake for twinkling stars

covered in paint our glazed pupils locked

wooden steps that swayed like the curve of my back

your mouth halfway inside me at 6 am on a spring morning

or was it winter?

stumbling back into my arms in a place we call 'sanctuary'

And that's always it.

Why can I only look you dead in the eyes when they're crossing?

We could stopped the universe, because we do every time we kissed.  

Like we can't stop sipping

Hangovers like ropes around my head

What's going to happen when we wake up?

When the dust clears?

Why are we still torturing each other through rye flavored teeth?

Relief is paradox and a vicious cycle

I'm not...
There is so much I am not.
Happy?
No.
Angry?
No.
Sad?
No.
Then what?
Empty.
But this isn't you.
I know.
You're so different.
I know.
All of your energy...
Stolen.
All of your passion...
Taken.
All of your fight...
Gone.
... for good?
I couldn't tell you.
But before-
Everything from before feels unreal, fake.
Surely you'll feel different tomorrow.
Surely.
.
.
.
So I suppose it doesn't matter.