I, too, enamored after folx who performed body scans, named my breasts
A forest.
Left a raging fire behind and snuck out
When it simmered into a constant,
with the tendrils of smoke carrying my sense of self.

Worshipped at the altar of uncouth,
Your chemicals never left,
Not after you molded the clay and convines of my person
Into a collection plate to leave
Burning things.

I, too, loved folx who labeled my vagina ashtray.

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