A truth

Tell me that misogyny does not exist as he labels

parts of my body with post-it notes, each with a 

mark from ten, stepping back to observe the 

‘work in progress’ that I have called a prison for

seventeen years, the one that he seems to think

that he has a right to call his own now. I have

spent seventeen years learning to love myself,

let me tell you right now that I haven’t the time

to try and teach it to anybody else.  

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