My home moved often, a trailer one day, the next a house and the last a home

But I lived in my body

A home that I hated and a home that I couldn't escape

My ribs; a locked cage to prison a soul

And as I looked around I wondered if others were happy in their homes

Or if they hated their bodies as much as I abhorred my own

If this body weren't mine would I still hate it

If  I named all the things I love how long would it take for me to say my name

- Bailee Taylor