I am so much more than you know.

Turn your body into a trick of light for him, then maybe you won’t feel so goddamn guilty about letting another person’s hands touch the small of your back.
Show him how you disappear when he turns his eyes away.
Tell him you are not really there, convince him he is holding onto an illusion and the moment he lets go, you will cease to exist.
Tell him how you were spoon-fed shame for wanting to be loved, and how you turned yourself into a ghost to avoid the guilt.

Look into his eyes when he leans in to kiss you and pretend you don’t see your mistakes staring back at you.  Pretend the act of loving isn’t tattooed into the back of your throat like sin, like drinking devil’s blood every time your lips touched his.

Tell him the body he is holding is not your own; you have footsteps etched into your back marking you property, marking you as someone else’s, marking you as a gift to be bargained off by the people who raised you.
Scratch your hands against his neck and tell him how they tore off your claws, how your mother held the scissors when you were five years old and told you a lady should be nothing but docile.

Scream how you were never born human being, how you were born daughter, born sister, born mother, born wife.
Scream how you were born your father’s property until another man buys you off his hands.
Scream how your worth is tied to the way your body curves and how many nights you’ve cut corners out of yourself.

When they tell you your self respect is shackled to the space between your legs, crack every single one of your bones until the chains fall right off.
Tell them you respect yourself enough to value yourself more than this.
When they tell you god created you to be spiritless, to be spineless, arch your back so far that it breaks and tell them you are so much more than they will ever know.

– Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

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