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  • Writer's pictureAisha Salaudeen

This poem is for when your body is at war

Updated: Feb 27

Random image of different body sizes because I couldn't think of anything better to go with this poem
My body is at war

My feet are a small riot, 

Walking roads with rough edges. 

My mouth—a refugee camp—

Housing unheard tales,

Carrying loss between my teeth.

My body is littered with many hideous things,

From fighting battles

Beating scars of hidden wars

In a story I didn’t write. 

Why wasn’t I warned?

That there will be no truce

Between my body

And the world’s gaze:

If my hips housed borders.

If my chest grew fruits.

If my skin mirrored the night.

I embody war. 

My stomach—filled with hot blood. 

A different kind of redness between my legs. 

The war will only end

If I do. 

And by God, 

Wouldn’t that be the perfect ceasefire?


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