a body is a ballot

a body is a ballot. it is folded at birth, passed hand to hand, already marked before i can even hold a pen. the state writes its name across my skin, ink that does not wash away. every scar becomes a signature, every bruise, a tally of decisions i never made. they cast their votes inside me- on what i may love, what i may carry, what i must bury. my ribs become the ballot box, my blood the paper trail. yet still i dream of uncounted votes, the blank square no one can touch, the secret chamber of my heart where i mark myself, where i choose myself, where no hand but mine can open the box.

what happens when you cast your vote against blood and bones. you mark me, and at what cost but my dignity. you walk away unharmed, and i am forced to sit with the sins you scarred into my skin, as you voice your loud opinion, oblivious to my existence. every ballot you cast becomes another bruise, another silence pressed into me, and still you never see the body you are writing on.

a body is a ballot. your words, your power, you ignore their worth when they do not uplift you. you push your folded sentences into my ribs as if they belong there, but who told you it was my cross to bear. hold your words- better yet, hold your tongue- and stand on your beliefs. will they hold your weight the way you’ve forced me to, or would you sink into oblivion, because even you do not know why you stand on your words when they carry no meaning beyond opinion.