This Shrine of Mine

Preface: For as long as I have been alive, and for hundreds of years before, my body has been under attack. I have only ever known the whims and wants of man - their desires, their contempt, their insistence. This poem is about my rejection of that status quo. I refuse to accept a law upon my body that is not of my choosing; whether it be about my dress or my reproductive rights or everything in between. Men seek to control us because they are afraid of us: our wombs do not belong to the world, but the reverse is true. And for my women without wombs, I stand with you in your fight for validation and equal rights. We are all sisters in this together. Never forget how much power you truly wield. We are all warriors.

If my body is a temple / As you so love to say / Then my heart shall be its goddess / And to her I will pray.

"Protect me from these evil things / That violate my soul / Those blasphemers with twisted smiles / That take, destroy, control."

My temple is so beautiful / Filled with music and grace / I want to carve it full of art / And decorate each face.

But then you say I worship wrong / I do not honor "God" / As if no other god exists / And I am who is flawed.

What about religious freedom? / To choose whom I exalt? / It's my body, it's my temple, / It's my choice, not my fault.

My heart still beats, my goddess strong / Her power fills my veins / I will not change to suit your wants / I won't accept your chains.

You say that I should fear your god / I should be more modest / I should gladly abase myself / And I should not protest.

Yet with every futile attempt / To control and defile / To tear down my sanctuary / To revolt and revile.

Through every barb and lie and curse / You've made one thing quite clear / It's not my soul you worry for / But it is me you fear.

So, my body is a temple / And I, its deity / It's mine to worship how I please, / It's my Authority.