This Body is Not My Own

---

A murder of crows.

A parliament of owls.

A bed of eels.

I have made my bed

And I lie in it,

Slimy, squirming, seditious.

It reminds me of his hands.

Writhing up and down my

Body,

Claiming pieces of me and

Marking me as his property

With his bruises, his juices. 

This body is not my own, 

They remind me.

You should have drunk less

Or worn more.

And never walk home alone.

When you freely hand out

Your body in a skirt and heels,

It becomes theirs for the taking.