Coerced with guilt
My body was yours.
It was yours to take, yes, it was all yours.
My pleas bounced off your beating chest.
I lay; a shell merely for your gain.
Lunch is near and you are here,
Bent over the porcelain bowl
A wreck.
Watered down the stench of toxins.
I cried silently while I protected your soft slumber beside me.
Time again, I’d conceal my blemishes to adhere to your perception
Of perfection.
I should give in. He was right. Near a year of trust.
Shattered in the garden. On the bench.
Your heart lay in pieces on the grass.
And my phone kept flashing your name for months after.
I’d freed myself, no longer chained to expectation.
My body is not yours.
It is mine.