My Body

A poem about being used and discarded by men

Art by Rebecca Artim

My body has never been in my possession

Rifling through my room

Nowhere to be found

I turn out my pockets

Lay just a small wad of cash

And a gold wrapper

On the kitchen counter

I stare but don't touch

I know fear as an unused condom

Pressed inside a warm wallet

A man prioritizing his pleasure over my safety

Anxiously peeing on a stick and waiting on the toilet

For one line to show up

Not two

Pain is popping Plan Bs like candy and

Crying and raging from mood swings for days

While my ex sat in his room and got blazed

High off of the last irresponsible shot he fired

My body

Flesh and bone

Was his to police and own

His to use and abuse

No place for me to call home

But I ignore the eviction notice

I pick up the condom from the kitchen counter

And tear into it with my teeth

I text him

Goodbye

---

If you learned something or just appreciate my writing, you can tip me at paypal.me/zoeadunning or cash.app/$zoeadunnin.