I do not know so much about bodies
But the chemistry I share with mine
is an improper fraction
When you see me slouch
It is the silhouette of a girl
Afraid of living in her own body
Because it is a boulevard of anguish
How my body has become a slate for writing wannabe miracles
A litmus paper for religious test
A failed practical
It is how I invade a church and have a cleric place his coat on me
Groan in the language of spirits
And quickly snap through the exit
How I have become an adjective
to the ones I call friends
And the colour of my pain plastered on their lips
Its splash and smear on my identity
My body is a saboteur
A reservoir for excruciating pain
Today, I conclude that my body is a tourist attraction
It is the label I wear each time you compliment me for being a woman
And how I submerge into a fickle phase
I do not like how she makes me feel
It is how my body has become a daily bread
A three course meal for barter
An open tap gushing without my consent
How I have become a playground
I do not want to talk about my crumpled maroon sheets
How I unwrap the grime after every slumber
Or how I’m in a conflict with self
When I count my worries
They come in odd numbers
So, I’m still here
Lurking
A clone
Lost in the very essence of finding herself