I was called a slut
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.
But it sings for just me.