I am just a body—
A body with words inscribed,
With meanings taped over my mouth,
And phrases to my thighs.

I am just a body.
My body belongs to guys.
I’m wholly unaware of pleasure
‘Til any of them tries.

I am just a body.
My brows are smartly drawn.
Atop white skin they furrow
Atop brown skin they spawn .

I am just a body.
My pain abounds and bounds.
With zip ties ‘round my wrists,
And feet glued to the ground.

I am just a body.
I am his willing doll.
I scream inside a void of darkness.
I dream and dream
I fall.
I am just a body.
They want to burn me at the stake.
I am someone’s enemy.
My wraith makes the Earth quake.

I am a torrent—
Absolutely abhorrent,
A thorn in his side,
Labeled as, “whore for rent.”

I bear my body.
I tout my breasts.
I bite my lip.
I shift my hips.

I cuff my wrists.
I explore myself.
A traitorous traitor,
A torturous stealth.

Thinking of him makes me ache.
Having power makes me shake.

Power and play—
Two bullets beside me.
Slide the gun down my skin,
And stuff both inside my V.
Explosion! A blast!
Waves of pleasure—
Can’t get past.
Just when I think it’s too much,
Relief ebbs at last.
But even as I O,
I think about how he can’t know.

Masturbation is a
Sick, secretive sorceress.
Self-pleasure is a
A gratifying goddess.

I am hyperfixated.
I see bodies everywhere.
When women walk past,
We engage in a stare.

Perfect plump calves.
Alluring amber eyes.
I realize my criteria for beauty
Is adopted from guys.


I am nobody.
How can I compare?
I turn away—
I recoil from their stares!
The best thing to do
Is just to not care.
His body,
A body,
Where do I go from there?

I am more than a conglomeration of blemishes and blush.
I am not the loudest, nor am I the most hush.
When I see him, I feel nothing.
When I see her, there’s a blast!
I just have all this baggage I can’t seem to get past.

If I am my body,
And I am myself,
Is it possible to ever put only
One on the shelf?

If I am a person
Inside of a body
Is there a way
I will ever get out?

Or will some version of his voice come out
Every time I shout?

Who hears me?
Matter of fact,
Who fears me?

Fear is the only welcome currency here.
You negotiate your status by how much you instill fear–
Or so I hear.

I display my body.
It exists in a cage.
I’m waiting for the moment when I can take the stage.
Want to exist without a body.
But all of this rampage
Must lead to something else…


To exist without a body.
To exist as someone else.
To exist somehow as me
And my body’s something else.
To make them reconcilable.
To balance on the scale.
To control my body.
To escape this Hell.

One day, I imagine.
One day, I hope.
One day, I pray.

I let go of the rope.

Writer | Mikayah Parsons ’24 |
Editor | Claire Macero ’25 |
Artist | Desmond Shea ’24 |