my body used to be sealed,
it was like i was my own chastity belt,
mouth kept shut,
never talking back,
narrowly slipping through the fingers of consumption.

the day i turned thirteen,
it was like a switch had been flicked,
like a dial had been turned
from zero to at least... thirteen.

i wasn't supposed to be a baby anymore,
i was supposed to be a teenager.
you know, the kind on disney channel,
the one that all the boys loved
and all the girls wanted to be.

i thought that growing up meant
i was no longer just my own.
i could give pieces away without breaking them off.

turns out, breaking off pieces of yourself
is inevitable,
and it
is not safe.
you become an apple,
or a piece of toffee
for somebody to tear between their teeth.

i was thirteen when one of my best friends
thought it was okay to grab me in public.

it was like i had turned to stone,
but not the tough kind of stone that would bruise you
if you hit it too hard.
no, i was like a snowman,
cold and immobile,
built of ice.

i was thirteen
when i realized it felt okay
to take what love you could get
when all he wanted
was my vulnerability through the phone
and all i wanted was a kiss
but i couldn't have it because
"he didn't love me like that"
despite the fact our hands could hold each other
for miles in any direction.

i was fourteen
when i stopped caring about what i did to my body
and instead cared about
what it did for other people.
my soul wasn't my own,
instead it was a foreign beast which suffocated my brain
with its tendrils.

i still can't decide which parts i'm okay with,
and which parts i'm not.

i was fifteen
when a boy insisted he had to have me.
when i told him i wouldn't send him pictures,
he said that i was a *****
who knew i was attractive,
and that everyone i knew hated me.
i later discovered
that apparently my being sick
was karma
for not letting him sink his claws into my flesh,
for not letting him smoke me,
or hold me between his teeth like a cigarette.

i was fifteen
when i discovered that two boys who i considered friends
were texting back and forth about how they could crucify me
in the most beautiful way
if only i was their God.
one of them was the same boy
that grabbed me.

i was fifteen
when all i ate
was rice cakes and boys' spirits.
i fed them however much they needed
while letting myself go hungry
so i could be perfect.

i was fifteen
when they realized i was just a toy,
a funny looking doll
for them to play pretend.
one of those walking, talking dolls,
the kind that mistook loneliness for love,
the kind that thought her body was the only thing about her
that could be used as a welcome mat,
the kind that heard a lot of
"you're not my usual type, but you'll do,"
balanced on top of half-hearted effort
and a hell of a lot of
"error: try again later"