A Doing Word

broken doll

They told me loving my body
Is a doing word.

They’d actively worship it
On the anti-throne of lust
Pull me apart and piece me back together for their own appreciation

They told me that I shouldn’t worry,
That those girl-like ridges
Above my ribs
Would blossom into the fullness
Of womanhood incarnate
In the curvature of
Somewhat recreational glands.

They told me not to freak out
My asset is one
That will be spinning heads because the sway in my hips is enough to slay.

They told me I will be enough;

If I listened to the sweet melodies,
That surfeiting
Eventually the appetite may so sicken and die

They told me loving my body is a verb.

That is done to me.
Over and over and over.

But they forgot to tell me,
That the verb must first be done by me.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s