I've known girls like you.
Girls who are two shots
of whiskey straight,
and chain smoking,
thigh highs and red lipstick
and a mean old twisted mouth.

I've known girls like you at night,
you turn yourself into something new.
You're all soft inside,
you're all sadness and bite
and limpid, starless eyes,
calling random numbers in the dark
just so you can hear a new voice,
just so someone can say ‘who's this?’
And finally you can breathe again
because you're a person again,
you're a who,
you're not a casual f.uck in a bar,
not a wolf whistle
or a left behind, or an afterthought.

Baby, you're all heart and hands,
you're all deconstruction,
collapsed stomach and lungs,
scowling whilst you apologize for existing,
frowning as you look for warmth in bodies
that do not belong to you.

Wait, I want to tell you,
stop smudging your eyeliner,
stop turning yourself inside out.

Wait, I want to say,
your hips are more than a hotel,
wait for it–

your body is a place to stay.

—Azra Tabassum, Ruin Does Not Look Like You