My body is a metal cage, a stage name—

I call it ME.

Maybe I should call it THE THING TO BE CONTROLLED.

My body is a safety net, the one that I like falling into

Most of the time.

I (think) I have anxiety, size three

It’s the only size that fits me when I’m like this—

‘Like this’ is code for THIS IS NOT MY BODY.

Did you know that three is a number on both sides of holy?

(holy, holy)

My body is not a map and they are not cartographers, 

But boundaries are still trying to be placed on what it can(t) do.

Politics, people: they’re both varying degrees of poison;

They made me look myself in the eye and realize

That I’m not as strong as I think.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as strong as I thought.

The prayer I say at night is still fake it until you make it.

I’ve spent this past year wondering

If it will always be like this.

‘Like this’ is code for I WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED.

Politics, people: they’re both varying degrees of my favorite things…

My body is a house with peeling, red paint

I can pick a new color and choose a different title—

Or I can keep ME.