you do not own me

You do not own me.

I should have said that way before.

I should’ve said that at your first utterance

of a promise.  A promise I should not have called

a promise, because I paid it with a kiss.

I do not owe you anything.

I should have said that before you forced me

to capitulate, before you took me in your arms

and mapped the terrain of my body with your hands,

before you claimed my nights, my days, my secrets—

my life. The tragedy of this age—people go about

thinking they can buy, that they can own

anything.

We have gone from being people to being

only things  of relative worth.

A heart is nothing

but a beating apparatus inside our chests,

indicating life or death.

But I’ll defy! This heart inside my chest

can love and suffer and it will:

carve my imprint out on the malleable earth, my heart,

make sure we are remembered.  

This heart is not yours.

You have not earned it, nor have I

given it to you.