“it’s MY body.”
i want to scream,
but my mouth—
rife with political trauma
and defeated cries—
is shut, voice muffled,
heart heavy.
do YOU know what it’s like?
have you carried a child
month after month,
bore the weight of life,
given birth to an empty room,
suffered rape and the unwanted touch
of a serial abuser?
have you woken in a college woman’s body
replaying events hidden under the moon?
hands, hands, nails, so many hands,
unfamiliar hands reaching for your body.
no, i’m not ready, no, not yet, please, no, stop,
please.
did you hear me?
so, i don’t have the choice to not have
hands, hands, nails, so many hands
take advantage of me,
and i don’t have the choice to have no mean something,
no, i’m not ready, no, not yet, please, no, stop,
but you have the choice to make the consequences?
are you hearing me?
you’re pro-life?
what about my life?
and what about my bruises?
and what about my bank account?
and has any part of you considered
educating men on unsafe sex?
or are condoms just too expensive for you?
i can cover those if you handle the birth control.
i can buy them if it’ll prevent the plan b,
the hospital fees, the child support,
but i’ll still need your support
to give me the right to my own body.
because without that all i have is my voice
and i’ll use it to scream no, i’m not ready, no, please, no, stop
until you listen.
do you hear me?
