i can’t remember how old i was when i realized
that this body does not belong to me
perhaps it is a trophy, hung on the wall
my bones are stuck between the teeth of
full-bellied hunters and my blood is
a satisfying aftertaste stained at the corners
of lips that are not mine

this body is not mine
this body belongs to the night
a man set a jack and coke in front of me and
stood there until i sipped it
this body belongs to the sting of
that liquor and the way it felt like
betraying everything within me that is feminist

this body is the kill
born to be hunted for sport
the kind of thing that is cut up for desirable parts
marked fair game as soon as i sipped that drink
or got in that car or wore that dress or
read those poems about rape culture

this body belongs to the night i realized
it feels the same way every time
you will want to stick your fingers down your throat and
hollow out the part of you that feels like it is made of sin and wrongdoing
purge yourself of everything that put you in
the hunter’s crosshairs and
turn the tables