Poetry

My Body by Alex Hill

He said my body was his.

He said I was his.

I was his to hurt.

His to harass.

At least to him.

He thought he was entitled

But what he didn’t understand was

I didn’t have to be his.

I didn’t have to stay at home.

I didn’t have to get him a beer when he gets back from work.

I didn’t have to pick up his stuff.

I was not an object or prize.

I was a person.

He couldn’t harass me.

He couldn’t hurt me.

I was not his.

My body is mine.

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