I am not body positive.
I am told that I'm attractive by people that want my body.
By people that think if I'm attractive, they have a right to stare.
By people that catcall and offer me good nights and drinks and drugs and hell on earth,
because I'm attractive.
I am not body positive.
I am a piece of meat on a table that you've tied me to saying that this is what pretty girls are for.
I am a walking hole, empty because no one ever compliments my heart, they compliment my clothes or my hair, or say the horrible things they would do with this gorgeous body of mine, but have they ever thought about the gore hiding under my skin that leaks out through scabs when I can no longer take the eyes glued to my hips, when I can no longer take the hands brushing against me, when I can no longer stand the filth the pile onto my soul.
I am not body positive.
Because my body is not mine.
YOU ARE READING
Body Positive
PoetryThis is really slam. It's meant to be read aloud. Maybe I'll get inspired and record myself reading, post it somewhere and put in a link. Probably not though. But does anyone actually care?