My silhouette was seen as a source of pleasure,  

Various hands wanted to catch mine as it was coveted to be a treasure,  

But I never felt warmth in their hands,  

They were cold and unrewarding.  

Of the various faces that come back to me in succession but are inconsequential.  

They lack the luminescence of love and longing.  

To the days that are dreary  

And the nights that have variety but no vibrance.  

I was the sacrifice to satisfy their perversions and fancies, 

And my autonomy was ruled by an aristocracy.  

I decided to fly past their arrogance,  

so far away that I cannot hear their useless rants and objections,  

I flew past the cages of consumerism and capitalism,  

Which exploited my expression and art,  

I fought with ferocity,  

For the right to claim our bodies,  

And to reclaim the right to pleasure as our treasure.  

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