my body is not my own

before I could know what my body was,

or the things that my body could do,

it belonged to my mother,

and hers to me;

through her own body, mine learned and grew.

my body is not my own,

before I could love my body for its shape and it’s strength,

or feel safe calling it my home,

it belonged to the boys

who told me my body

was nothing to love or to show.

my body is not my own,

before I could heal and nurture my body,

or relearn the beauty it held,

it belonged to the boys

who now told me my body

was capable of casting spells.

my body is not my own,

before I knew how to fuel my body towards wellness,

or treat it with care,

it belonged to the ailments that

haunted my mind;

the sadness, the anxious despair.

my body is not my own,

for once I knew how to carry my body,

and allow it to carry me

i willingly gave up control

of my body to carry

life within me.

my body is not my own,

and it’s a rather good thing that I know

that this body is only my armour

and that nobody can own my soul.