by Slavena Salve Nissan
My body is not a temple.
She won’t be covered up.
She is not to be worshiped for her purity
or condemned for her desire.
My body is not a spectacle.
She won’t dance for anyone but herself.
She’ll be decorated in tattoos and rings
and wedding dresses only if she wants to be.
My body is not a specimen.
She won’t be poked and prodded.
She won’t allow them to cut open her breasts
or suck out the fat from her belly.
My body is not a toy.
She won’t be tossed around.
She won’t be kicked or punched
or bruised by rough hands.
My body is not an object.
My body is alive.
She bleeds
and sweats
and cries.
She breathes
and screams
and sighs.
She loves.
