Poem

[Ba****]

“Property of No One”

I was raised in a house
where love had a backhand.

Twenty years
of a father who said he loved me
with liquor on his breath
and bruises in his shadow.

He was my first hero.
My first heartbreak.
My first lesson
that “I love you”
can come wrapped in ***.

I learned how to read footsteps.
Learned how to apologize
for things I didn’t do.
Learned that survival
means staying small enough
to not get hit
and soft enough
to still get chosen.

That was the blueprint.

So when another man showed up
with charm sharp as a blade,
I mistook control
for safety.

Eight years.

Eight years of being monitored.
Measured.
Corrected.

Eight years of hands
that claimed ownership
like I was land to conquer.

And then the ultimate theft—

A decision about my body
made while I was ***.

Tubes tied.
Future sealed.
Choice stolen.

Because control
was his favorite love language.

Do you know what it feels like
to wake up
and realize
someone signed their name
across your insides?

To know your womb
became a battlefield
and you didn’t even get to fight?

He didn’t just break me.
He edited me.

Cut chapters out of my life
like they were typos.

And I kept telling myself
this is normal.
This is love.
This is what happens
to girls who are too much
and never enough
at the same time.

But listen to me now.

I am not your property.
Not your experiment.
Not your customizable doll
you get to alter
because you’re afraid
I might outgrow you.

I am not a body
for you to discipline.
Not a womb
for you to regulate.
Not a pair of legs
you drag behind your ego
to prove you’re a man.

You weren’t men.

You were cowards
hiding behind fists
and paperwork
and silence.

You mistook my trauma
for obedience.
You mistook my ***
for loyalty.

But *** is not devotion.
And silence is not consent.

I am a person.

With *** that remembers.
With bones that survived impact.
With a nervous system wired for war
that is finally choosing
to revolt.

I am rage.

Rage for the little girl
who loved her father
even when he hurt her.
Rage for the woman
who woke up altered
without her permission.
Rage for every time
I was reduced
to something usable.

I am not your fuck toy.
I am not your control project.
I am not the aftermath
of your insecurity.

I am what survived you.

And survival
is turning into something holy.

You tried to make me small.
You tried to make me compliant.
You tried to make my body
a locked room
you held the key to.

But I found the door.

And I kicked it off the hinges.

I am more than what was done to me.
More than the scars.
More than the surgeries.
More than the nights I begged
for it to stop.

I am still here.

Not owned.
Not erased.
Not yours.

I am a person.

And my body
is no longer
a battlefield.

[Jesseoo]

Wow been through a lot

[Bonkhooper]

Nice poem and im not into poetry very intens

[br****]

Amazing! You should consider going to a slam poetry event 💞 There’s very large communities there who heavily relate to this narrative

[Br****]

👏👏👏 well said!

[jinxed]

Thank you for sharing this story showing how much a human being can get through without letting it break them. Steep learning curve isn't it? An eclectic mix, the "we've gone through hell and now have become hellish"-gang. Lots of love to you! 

[CJ_SilverQueen]

That was beautiful.

[MrLeatherCrotchBoots]

Holy cow I am crying, that was amazing, thanks for sharing something so personal and powerful

[To****]

💚

[yo****]

Wow…how beautiful! My heart aches for you….have you ever heard of or done EMDR?
Though we are different the trauma is very similar and affects every fiber of your being unless you take the action necessary to reframe your psyche!
❤️