I Don’t Own This Body

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

How one can be at home
And a stranger
All at once.
How did we get here?

This body is not my own;
It belongs to my government.

It belongs to every man I pass on the street.
It belongs to the police officer
Backing up his squad car so he can be next to mine at the red light.
It belongs to his smile,
Whose lechery is now burned into my brain

It belongs to my ex-boyfriend.
The first person to ever see me naked,
And the first person who ever made me not want to be.
He found me disgusting but still,
He took.

It belongs to a religion I don’t even believe in.
And all of the men in charge of it who are just afraid of the what if’s.
What if women were happy
And enjoyed their bodies
Instead of feeling ashamed of them.
What if we stopped having babies
And started having careers instead.

When did the single, child-free millennial dog mom become scarier than a gun?

How did we get here?
And can we ever go back?



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Becky Curl

Becky Curl

Freelance Make-Up Artist & Teacher. Wig & Make-Up Designer. Freelance Writer. Coffee, dogs & pop-punk are my life. MFA student at Roosevelt University.