Verso: Fault Lines

My body is a temple I cannot enter
I cannot worship, I cannot take care of myself
at least thats what I’ve been told

I’ve been told that my body
is a piece of meat
conserved by the salty tears of women that
are ashamed of themselves

My body is not my own
and when I linger and look I get stares
in despair I close everything
I shut everything off until it’s

Until it’s dark and I can’t see
the tips of my fingers traveling
to the edge of my tempel


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