The ink seeps into my skin
And you all own me
Patented to your specifications.
Still there days later,
It doesn't feel like art
When you ain't got a choice.
It feels like branding.
Reminds me of a different mark
Seared into my skin.
He's around, and it feels like
A hot metal stamp
On my wrists, my hands
The parts that hurt.
The places that later when you forget
You lean on a table or go to grab something and
All the pain returns,
Screaming.
I am graffitied every day
By passers by who love her, touch and take,
While my hands are tied.
I am scrawled on by lovers of mine,
Who don't know that "No." with a smile
Is still "No."
Different types, different reasons,
But they all burn.
And I get it,
Why people quit.
Why they run away or simply stop.
I'm never clean, never untouched.
Everybody else gets a say, gets a turn
To use me and make me apologize,
To degrade me and make me thank them,
My skin like plastic melting
And they see it's pliable----
A chance to leave their stamp of ownership.
Sad thing is,
If looks were souls and not shells,
Nobody would find me beautiful enough
To mar, *"X WAZ HERE"