Relax,

reconnect with your body My therapist says.

But how can I reconnect with something

that never felt like mine? A thing I’ve worked

so hard to compartmentalize

Ever since puberty, when I began

to bleed my body has felt more like

a public commodity. When I still feel,

his eyes on my ass, ten years old,

in hand-painted jeans. When I still check behind for

Those Men in cars Hey! Shake it Baby!

who would follow me home?

Who could love a body

that still shrinks away in a crowded place.

A body that still feels hands

in that sacred place where thighs meet.

Those who were invited and those

who were not? Who could love a body

with so many names

etched across it. Like so many tattoos

Maximilian. Blue. Nathan.

So many more I never knew.

Who leered, and grasped and gaped

and took what wasn’t theirs to take.

When will I reconnect with a body

that I’ve never connected to at all?