My Body Ain’t No God-Damned Temple

I do not know how to like my body – hell, most of the time I really don’t want to know that I have a body.

I hate the expression – make your body a temple.

Tell how many exited women can do that, with self-harming or turning back to be dead?

You be in the skin and muscles of an exited woman for a week, and tell me how holy your body feels?

If my body is a temple, it is a temple where several male wars have raise it to the ground.

To be inside a temple as an exited woman, is to know you were nothing but a temple whore.

I cannot worship a body which was made to be used by others for their sadistic pleasures.

How to I not hate my body – when jackboots have kick in any concept of hope, when poison has been poured in my every cell?

I need no simplistic answers, just a gentle understanding of the deep fear and hate my body holds for me.

It is a body that holds the unspeakable, and stores them quietly away until I had enough safety and stillness to know what my past really was.

I suppose I don’t hate my body – I just have a deep fear of knowing what is close to unknowable.

How do you know the cold and detach sadism that is prostitution?

How do you know that such ordinary men have such hate and ideas of pain in them wanting for the prostituted?

And how can any body live with the porn-games poured into each and every prostitute?

It is close to impossible to feel one with your body after years of invasion from countless punters.

It is close to impossible to feel one with your body when profiteers have sold it as goods to any sadistic bastard out there.

To survive prostitution, it is wise to not know you have a body.

How do you fully recover from that?

This is a very short post, coz my heart is broken.

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One response to “My Body Ain’t No God-Damned Temple

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