My body is a walking museum.
My bones heavy with hands running down my spine and when touched, it does not break
It is made up bricks and bricks of catcalling – “sluts” and “whore” – molded into walls that held my back.
These thighs are reviewed one, two, three, four, five stars
Like an open hotel, a service, a merchandise ready to be sold
in a market
And my eyes, a call for attention they say
It speaks ‘yes’ to passerby, to schemers, to the libido of men, to the sleepless sexual drive whenever and wherever
These breasts hide in plain sight that invites to be seek, to be fondled
Seduces the neighbors conclusively
without its knowing
And the beasts of the day openly sniff these shoulders like a bee
Like a mosquito ready to attack in a blood-smell
All you daylight bullies, slut-shamers, catcallers, and predators who accuse us provocative no matter what we do or wear,
Bury me and see how I dig myself out of the heap of soil
Bury me and watch as I crawl out of your verdict as an object of your egoistic desires
Bury me and look at me fly
Because these wings are too strong and too big for your shallow opinions to bring me down
The big breathing world encircles me in its grip,
but watch me break the clutches of your mouths and bodies
You hit like rain and it falls formless.
Watch me, a towering blossom of a tree, sip down these waters and grow into miraculous beauty
This woman is breathing
And her artwork is not for your touching.