Seen as puzzle pieces and not the whole picture
compartmentalized into the sum of my parts

not just a pretty face
long legs
or tight bod

porn category
kill number or
promo girl

there’s a brain on top of these narrow shoulders
and the world has no idea what it’s capable of

My body: isn’t a talking point at some dinner party
My body: doesn’t owe you
My body: isn’t just a home for a maybe baby
it’s my home

you forget there’s a mouth attached to this womb
so make room
because my thoughts are loud and will take up space
my ideas vibrant, blinding really
opinions sharp enough to cut you off
when you mansplain my own life experiences

I have a whole essence dragging behind these assets
so don’t comment on my appearance
or my experience
just leave women the fuck alone

we don’t have to pay cover
of being pretty to exist
don’t need to
dress like a lady
to be respected
[do you think we still believe that ?]
I am tired
and will no longer squeeze into the corner
folded upon myself
like a stack of laundry
so your ego can lay claim
to my rights, her rights, their rights
and then some
look me straight in the eyes when I say;
having a dick doesn’t mean you have quick wit
just a name on my list of death wishes
don’t test me
-nasty woman

Kylee Graham (she/her), is a feminist poet, and activist currently located in Charlottetown, PEI, Canada, studying veterinary medicine at Atlantic Veterinary College. She is passionate about addressing gender-based violence, social inequality, and collective healing. Her work has been featured in the new literary journal, Laurels and Bells. You can follow her on Instagram @k.gpoetry_, where she just started sharing her words with the world!

Footnote:  This poem explores how the world uses and controls women’s bodies. Women’s bodies are seen as a means to an end for reproductive purposes, while simultaneously being hyper-sexualized. Yet, women can’t express their own bodies in a sexual way without negative consequences. We are taught from a young age that women’s bodies are a commodity to be used and controlled by everyone but herself. This poem demonstrates the anger created by feeling these things every. single. day.