The first summer that I saw blood when I went to the bathroom was the first summer a boy slid his hand down my shirt, the first summer I learned my body did not belong to me, that I was either going to be powerful or property.  I learned quickly how to manipulate, what to accentuate.  I could bat an eye and show thigh better than any other nine year old around.  So thank you fifteen year old boy for inviting me in that day when I came over for a playdate with your eight year old sister, even though she wasn’t home.  I felt so, fucking, cool.  Thank you for putting your hand on my newly curving hip and reassuring me by bragging about all the girls you get.  It was so funny when you rode past on your bicycle and pulled down my shirt because apparently it’s hilarious that I have boobs before fourth grade.  So, I learned to use my sex appeal before I ever heard the term, bragged about my conquests and then had to look up slut in the dictionary when it was hurled at me at recess.  I learned that for twelve year old boys a blow job is a much more effective apology than “I’m sorry” after you kiss their best friend.  I learned that when you’re thirteen and say you like girls all the boys will find out your phone number and get a new love for the taste of the word threesome and the girls won’t talk to you until they’re fourteen and need help “practicing.”  Thank you body for becoming woman before my mind could, for making me feel things at half my age that I’m only beginning to understand now.  Fuck you body for being bth victim and weapon, where is your off switch, why can’t you just find something beautiful instead of tearing everything to shreds, why was it so easy to learn how to make others love something I can only despise and why can’t I find another use for you?