Blackout poetry #23.

Blackout poetry, Hanna Streng

I am my own now. I no longer have to be owned to be whole.

For you it might be a given but let me tell you, as someone who’s been told all my life that I need to surrender all, that I’m a temple for another- useless and dirty before I’m inhabited- and that I belong first to God and then to whatever man that chooses me, the simple phrase “I am my own” feels utterly blasphemous and extremely liberating, all at once.

So much so that I’m set on getting the word “mine” inked on my skin.

Funny how true freedom looks nothing like I was told it would. I have so much to unlearn.


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