My Body Isn’t My Body

Giulia Bertelli

My body isn’t my body
It’s a rest stop for boys who need to lighten their load
So the gravity of their dirty kinks can fall on me
So they can breathe
It doesn’t matter if I can’t.

My body is the deserted scene of a drive-by shooting
The streetlights flickered and the assailant slipped into the shadows
He-saids, she-saids but I’m cleaning up the mess
I’m sewing myself up and I don’t even want to
It comes with the territory, I guess.

My body is a dead tree in the middle of town
Weightless and hollow but I can’t cut myself down
Boys carve their initials into my shell as if they have the fucking right to
And each time a wildfire promises an ending, someone puts it out
I am worn and wrinkled and fruitless
I am tired.

My body isn’t my body
My body isn’t my body isn’t my body isn’t mine
I pass mirrors and I see dust
I look at photographs but that girl is a stranger
I feel weight on my seat but I can promise you that I am empty
My body belongs to boys who took my innocence like taking candy from a baby
My body belongs to boys who swiped my virginity like a debit card
I’ve looked for the receipt but it’s nonrefundable
I’m used up and I’m dirty and I’m fucking repulsive.

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