My body can grow babies and I can kill them if I want to.
My body is sexual. My body is sexual for me and my pleasure.
My body is not sexual for you.
My body is beautiful. Every day I stare at my body with wonder, even when my hair is dirty and my makeup is smeared all over my face.
My body is not beautiful for you.
My body is full of pleasure. My body is capable of moans and ecstatic states that make me feel as if I am bursting into the entire universe at once.
My pleasure is not because of you.
Every single month while I bleed between my legs, I am reminded that I am capable of giving life.
My body does not give life for you.
My body can get pregnant. My body can miscarry.
My body can say nope, sorry, I decided nevermind.
My body is so powerful that people try to legislate my womb.
My body is mine. When anyone wants to touch me, I can say no. When anyone wants to put something inside of me, I can say no.
My body is mine. When something is growing inside me, it is my choice what to do with that life until it is no longer inside of me anymore.
I know that when men put sperm inside of me millions of them die on their way to my womb.
I wonder why men do not get punished for the sperm that die.
I know you tried to develop birth control for men. Until you stopped because men did not like the side effects any longer.
My body cries in pain. My body cries for hours with the knowledge that Ohio, Texas, Alabama, Kentucky, and Mississippi do not legally recognize my autonomy.
My body cries with the ancestral knowledge that my rights are new.
I do not cry for you.
My body and my choices are for me.
Not for you.