My body

is my temple. 

It is sacred. 

And I only know this

from the hands that tossed me

and turned me

while screaming

they loved me

and etching

notions of false admiration

like bruises deep in my skin.

My body is my temple.

And I have only learned this

from nights when I crumbled

into myself,

searching for purpose,

nothing but

hollow

like the words of reassurance

that dragged me down

down

down

with my pride.

My body is my temple.

And I have only felt this

when I learned

that temples are desecrated too.

My body is my temple.

And I have only seen this

when I set myself free.