Nothing

I will not call my body land,
Because its not yours to claim.
I won't call it a temple,
Because you won't respect it like one.

I won't call it a work of art,
If I feel like nothing more than a broken picture frame
Held together by tape.

In all honesty, what I call it doesn't matter.
What I call it other than skin.
Skin.. With stretch marks from binge eating one day,
Then not eating for four.

A body,
That's slowly breaking .
Eyes, that so many call beautiful,
But only look empty and dead when I
Look in the mirror.

I won't call myself happy,
Because my smile is still called a frown.

Let's call my body nothing,
Something we can all agree on.