My Body Isn’t a Protest

My body isn't a protest.

It's a betrayal.

I've been trapped in here for years,

buried inside a harp seal,

wide-eyed with hakapiks overhead.

It was silent when I wanted to scream.

It froze when I wanted to fight.

It stayed when I should have fled.

My body isn't a protest.

It's a betrayal.

It's a betrayal.

Even my body knows it,

marks its own cells as intruders,

attacks itself,

as if the outside world wasn't enough,

it joins the conquest,

and forms an internal massacre.

Hand me the club.

I'll do it myself.

Body Cover

~ “Can you think of any laws that give the government

power to make decisions about the male body?” - Sen. Kamala Harris

“I’m not thinking of any right now, Senator” - Supreme Court Nominee, Brett Cavanaugh

My body has scars,

but they're all a secret,

not the ones you can celebrate.

there are no stretch lines nor C-section marks,

my slices cannot be seen but

they rest all over.

Fingertips soaked in the acid of pubic must,

wrists viced and stormed,

biceps pinned,

eyes pierced,

breasts squeezed and pinched and mangled,

my womb is scraped clean.

Inside me lives a thousand cuts,

beats and blows,

ripped open and scooped out,

burned,

torched.

My body is a cemetery with no stones,

blanketed over with blades of grass,

a swingset and

an IOU.

ABOUT:

Nickie DeSardo is an activist, feminist, and mother. Her poems often reveal her struggles with identity, past violence, and love. Holding a master’s degree in education and linguistics, she is currently pursuing an MFA in writing from Western Connecticut State University with a concentration in poetry and feature journalism. A former public-school teacher, she is now a director for a non-profit focused on racial justice. Nickie resides on the Connecticut shoreline with her children, her partner, and two crazy dogs.

EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: blurblur --- burned