My Body Is My Own

My body is my own. My body is no one else’s. My body is my own to do with as I please. What I do with my body, consensually, does not harm anyone else. My body is to do with as I please. I say this as a trans* person. I say this as someone who has to have doctors upon doctors tell me how I can use my body to make it more of my own. I say this as a person with body mods, which society dictates makes me a rebel and an outcast. I say this as someone who in the future wishes to cover HIS body with ink and art, which society tells me, makes me stupid.

My body is my own. I have every right to do with my body as I please. To say anything else is oppressive violence. Seems like a strong word, but it is truth. Dictating how a person uses their body and controls their body is the very way oppressors take away power. They dictate what people can and cannot do with their body. They take away their right to own themselves, since they cannot make up their own choices about their own flesh and blood. This is oppression, this is violence. They make laws against our bodies. They institutionalize their control over our bodies. They invade our very bodies as much as they can, forcefully and violently.

My body is my own. My body is how I move through life and society. My body is how I am seen. I do not want to be seen as something I am not. I dictate this with my body. While others may paste their assumptions onto me, I refute them with my body. My words are part of my body. I speak with my mouth, my lips, my tongue. I write with my hands. My body is how I communicate. I am my body. Even my mind, is part of my body. I am my body. My body is a reflection of me. My body is who I am, both inside and out. It is my vessel and my portrayal.

My body is my own. I am not mutilating it. I am not fixing any errors. Contrary to popular belief, I do not see my body as wrong, per say, just in need of a few adjustments. No one’s body is wrong. Imperfect for the soul it contains, perhaps, but not wrong. We are human, so we are by the nature of humanity, we are imperfect. We strive for perfection. I will make my body perfect for me, for it is my own. My body is for no one else.

My body is my own. It is a work of art in progress. A home in the middle of renovations. My body is my home since I am stuck with this for the rest of my life here on this Earth. I will make it my own. I will own it. I will rearrange the furniture and I will paint the walls as I see fit. I will knock down walls and hang up paintings. My body is my own to do with it as I please, just as any home I would own. I do not rent my body, I own it.

My body is my own. It is not for someone else. It is not to be dictated by another. What I do with my body, is for myself and for myself only. I may invite others into my home, but it is my home. I can remove tenants as I see fit. My home is mine to control. You should have no control over what I do in my home, my flesh, for it is mine.

My body is my own. What I call my body and those parts that make up my body, are my own to call. What I may call a lamp, you may call a light, even if they are the same fixtures, they are not the same. I claim the names for the parts that make up my body, for they are mine to name. No one else’s. No one has the right to dictate what you call the things that make up your home.

My body is my own. We may not agree on how to handle our houses, but that is fine. If I like a little clutter, that is ok. That is not to say you cannot express your concerns. We are all neighbors on this Earth; a giant neighborhood. However, that does not mean you can dictate how I run, see, explore, alter, or define my house. That is mine alone. My body is my house. You do not have the right to use your concern, whether legitimate or faked, to push past my gates and into my home. That is violence. That is war.

My body is my own. My body is not a war ground, nor should it ever be. A home should be a refuge, a safe haven. It should be free of war, famine, guilt, shame, and law. A home should not be a place of harm, pain, or ill will. My home is my sanctuary. My body is my sanctuary.

My body. My life. My rules. My choices. My identity. My history. They are mine. They are not yours. Please adhere to the No Trespassing signs. This residence has alarms. My voice, my struggle, my existence are the very alarms against the intrusions some may take against my home; my body. I will not fall silent until the last intruder leaves, and they will leave with a message. They will leave with the message carved on their very psyches. They will know and they will accept. My body. My life. My rules. My identity. My history. Not theirs. Not theirs to define. Not theirs to rule over or dictate. Not theirs. Mine.

My body is my own.

Author: Lucian Clark

Lucian Clark was born and raised in South New Jersey. Recently they published their first novel, a dark romance, titled Cemetery Drive. Their works have been featured across numerous platforms such as The Advocate and in anthologies like Werewolves Versus and Postcards From The Void. They've also been featured on several podcasts to talk about horror, activism, and their writing. With a passion for all things spooky, horrific, and queer, Lucian can often be found on social media talking about werewolves, rats, and My Chemical Romance. When not actively writing or reading, Lucian is also the curator of the queer horror website, GenderTerror, which features original art, stories, interview and more. They can also be found playing video games or with their pets (currently some rats and a cat). They are active in local and national social activism with a focus on LGBTQ+ rights and reproductive justice. View all posts by Lucian Clark