I hate my body,
not because I don't look beautiful
or the rape culture
what my country holds.
But just the sanctity,
my body withholds,
to survive as other species of homosapiens - women.
My body is honored and glorified,
as a sacred being.
At the same time, it's also been dictated
in the context of women.
Yet deny emotional suppression.
my body can be gambled and sold
in the name of holiness and marriage.
and taught the right
to be domestic and a sacrificial object.
wrong to be anything much more!
a woman is her body as man is his,
but her body is something other than her.
so, is it sanctified or crucified?
still a hopeless paradox.
Every human I met
had put me in boundless despair of gender equality.
either through love or hate,
nothing to relate.
I'm a hopeless hormone just to cocreate
I lack a piece to treat less subjugate
no way to devastate the opinion,
that my body is not enough to define me.
as Simone de Beauvoir said,
why is a woman the Other?
I ponder at the question
until I unlearn the language of silence.
Breaking the glass ceiling in silence
So women after me
Have less to break
And more to make
let us put our world under scrutiny
until we obsolete our unfair colony