i still remember the first time
that someone thought my body
was their property
my first girlfriend pressed her hand into my throat,
tightening her fingers
like she wanted to leave her prints there
but all that was left were bruises
that i had to explain away to my mother
a boy i just met grips my hair
he shoves me to the ground
i can still feel the branches pressing into my knees
his calloused fingers wiping away my tears
as he tells me to be a good girl
i want to be a good girl
i’m scared to not be a good girl
but i know i’m not
because good girl doesn’t shove her fingers down the back of her throat
digging like if she can go deep enough
she might find hidden treasure
good girl doesn’t feel hands forcing their way up her shirt
and think “he’s not going to stop
so i might as well let him”
good girl doesn’t feel ***** all the time
good girl doesn’t have fingerprints engraved on her skin
like tattoos
good girl doesn’t feel phantom hands
pushing their way up her skirt
if she sits a certain way
a good girl wouldn’t let that happen to her
a good girl doesn’t let her body
get rented out like a hotel room
a good girl is no one’s property