My body is not a temple.

My body is not a temple.
My body is not a place to visit.
My body is not for worship slaves.
My body is not to be decorated by plucked flowers.
My body is not to be showered with paid milk.
My body is not to be chanted, nor is it a mantra or a preferred devotion song.
My body is not a temple.
My body has been injured.
Injured in every part, in and out,
Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
My body is not a temple.
My body is not a clean record or a new book.
It is not sacred or holy or untouched.
My body has been self-harmed, burnt and scarred.
It has been kissed, licked, sucked,
Squeezed, fingered, fucked.
Not by one, not by another, but also by myself.
My body is not a temple.
My body is not platform for passers-by.
My body is not a touch-n-go.
My body is not a public event.
My body is not a temple,
My body has ached.
My body has stains.
My body has sinned.
My body is not a temple.
My body is not for another.
My body is not mine either.
But one thing's true, my body has lived.
And, therefore,
My body is not a temple.
Your body is not a temple.