by Sierra Maloney

this body, my body,
i take it in my hands and whisper is mine, is mine, is mine
until bruises dot my skin.
how many times have i been reminded that
these hips, hands, this heart
do not belong to me,
do not matter,
exist only for abuse or ecstasy?
they told me womanhood was wonderful,
beautiful,
tears brimming their eyes as they spun me
around and showed
me off to the world,
fourteen years old,
wanting nothing more than to die,
to collapse in on myself.
they lied,
so much has happened
that makes this skin feel like a prison,
like i’m serving a sentence i did not
commit the crime for.
this body, my body,
has been burnt and broken,
used and neglected,
but i still take it in my hands and
whisper to myself,
is mine, is mine, is mine.