To be a woman is to be objectified.
Through your eyes,
I am never just a soul wearing skin,
I am only skin. A body.
And this body
has been too thin.
Not thin enough.
Beautiful, but only when it gives you what you want.
I’ve been told to change, to squeeze,
to mold myself into your ideal:
perfect skin, perfect shape,
a perfect everything,
forever growing younger instead of older.
But I don’t need your commentary.
I don’t want your opinions.
Because I don’t need you to want me.
I don’t want to be craved,
I want to be earned.
This body is just a vessel.
My soul is what quenches thirst.
It loves, not to seduce, but to nurture.
It builds, it softens, it embellishes your light.
Only the emotionally fluent
and the spiritually grounded
may proceed to touch this mind,
or this body.
I am not for everyone.
Nor do I want to be.