I was called a **** because of my body today. It didn’t phase me, because my mother taught me not to listen to boys who use their egos like knives.
I find it odd, because they don’t know that I have a freckle just above my hip bone. I keep it closely guarded because it is the only part of my body that I like.
No one can say they know my body until they know which one of my arms has a scar from when I burned my arm cooking for my family.
They can’t understand my body until they look into my brain and see how the right side must be vibrant at least that’s how I see it.
Did you know that I grew my hair to hide the way my body looked in the summer? To hide it from You, so that I could at least be held steady in my own roots.
I lied, you know my favorite part of my body is my eyes. My soul is climbing out of the window and holding to the window pane. It longs to leave the cage. It longs for separation from the cage. It longs to have its picture taken, to be drawn, to be remembered, to be won, to be loved and cherished and wanted.