To my body, which has never hated me.

anarchic borderland,

drawn out by curves and angles,

patrolled by piercings and inks and fabrics,

a multitude of scars and unexplained bruises

simultaneously, the center of pleasure

and pits of torment,

the prisoner inside taps SOS against a cage,

looking beyond security through blurred windows

purveyor of history,

a factory of misassembled genes,

functioning, proper,

yet still somehow wrong

still, despite the bile or the lines,

or the late nights spent staring,

pursuit of the ever-elusive change,

sufficient. incredible. thank you.