my body
is a food stall for men
they grab and grab and take me all up
“aren’t you going to pay?” I ask
“for what?” they will reply, as they shove more fruit into their bags, their pockets, their carts
i have pride, i tell myself in my head
I HAVE PRIDE, I shout
but as a canned piece of food that has been ripped open and stabbed and cut open with a knife from someone who didn’t care enough to open my metal ridges, to learn
that my body is not something to be eaten from, my body is not something to belong to someone else
I have pride
my body is a sunflower my mom always told me to worship and treasure, to spread strawberry motion on my skin because me, myself, am apart of this nature, me myself is apart of the earth, I am the roots of the trees
I have pride
my body is totem pole for sexual gratitude, my body is “oh my god, i want your body”
my body is “i could work you all night long”
my body is not mine
my body is leers from old men who have a daughter at home my age, my body is hip thrusts from adolescent boys when im not looking, my body is messages in a groupchat, a defendant at a court case because god forbid I dont make it non guilty that I dont have blood on my hands from killing my previous self, that I dont have scars on my hands from the hammering of the nails that I used to construct my body, just for this judgement, this case
I have no pride