Body Love, Part 1

I know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm
Like squeezing into last year's prom dress.
I know girls who are low-rise, mack eyeshadow, and binge drinking
I know girls that wonder if they're disaster and sexy enough to fit in
I know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin
Playing Russian roulette with death is never easy
To accept our bodies are fallable and flawed.
But when do we draw the line?
When the knife hits the skin, isn't it the same thing as purging,
Because we're so obsessed with death
Some women just have more guts than others
The funny thing is women like us don't shoot.
We swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue,
Still proceeding to put on makeup,
Still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive,
We might as well be buried with our shoes and handbags and scarves
Girls, we flirt with death every time we enter a tally mark into our skin
I know how to split my wrists to reveal a battlefield too,
But the time has come for us to reclaim our bodies
Our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral offerings,
This fuckdom as a pathetic means to say, "I only know how to exist when I am wanted."
Girls like us are hardly ever wanted, you know?
We're used up, and we're sad, and drunk,
And perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up and tell us that we did good,
We did good.

I know I am, because I said I am
I know I am, because I said I am
I know I am, because I said I am
My body is home
My body is home
I know I am, because I said I am
I know I am, because I said I am
I know I am, because I said I am