~This Body~

I survived abuse,
I have abused myself.
I’ve survived trauma,
Trusted hands still scare.
My body has been broken,
my flesh pierced- not by choice.
I emerged with a louder voice!
I am not a victim,
But I’m in pain every day.
I fight for my body,
I fight…

A Body of Hope

A bar love poem (a note to drinkers)

With a new job interview on monday and the hope of getting out of bar work, I wrote a little poem about how i feel some of the men treat female bartenders..obviously not all are like this but I would say at least half of the men that come into the bars I have worked in in the last 5 years have been.

Your suit hangs looser than the magnum condoms your girlfriend buys
You’re drinking in my bar while she’s out talking to other guys
You tell me your sob story and ask what I would do
But if I were yours I’d probably be cheating too

You don’t even have work to do,
You could be at home trying to work things through
Maybe wine and dine, dinner for two
But you chat me up hoping I’ll go home with you

I’m more than half your age
And I don’t care about your hourly wage
Your only worth to me is the drinks you buy
And the amex card that you wave

My hourly wage is enough
I don’t need you to “take care of me” and “buy me stuff”
I’m not surprised your girls not there when you wake up

I serve men like you on a daily basis
Looking at girls with want on their faces
Grabbing arses and starring at tits
Who get offended when told “back off you cant have this”

I suggest approaching from a different angle
Take your drink and just be thankful
I don’t want to be in your twisted love triangle.

By Mollie – 21

Haikus about my body, my being

I’m a college lecturer in Media and English, a book reviewer and blogger.

Motherhood was and is a challenge for me. Not because I don’t feel like a mother or feel too lazy to bother about what it takes to be a mother. But because, I have a day job, I read a lot and I balance a household’s work. And add a two year old to it, and you have a masala! But I love it. Absolutely have no regrets about having conceived when I did, and having had a baby when I did! And by God’s grace, my husband and long-time friend, Terence Joseph is a gem. Hehe I know all wives would say that!

Below are a few Haikus I wrote after childbirth, last year.

Every drop of milk
of mine
is yours forever.

At the breast –
serene face,
watchful eyes.

Come, my child
let’s play
just you and me.

Shhh, he’s asleep
dreaming dreams
of tomorrow.

Starting to speak,
but even mama,
can’t comprehend.

A lover’s bed
memories that linger on.

And a short poem:

My body, A vessel

We were one,
You took shape inside me,
grew your limbs and eyes.

A speck that you once were,
a mere dot in a vast sea
now a little man yourself.

Our hearts used to beat in rhythm,
Now you lie on my chest,
my heartbeats lulling you to sleep.

My belly grew as you were designed,
The ridges and valleys still visible
on my stretched tummy.

The weight of life inside,
each day a new beginning,
each night a new feeling.

They told me it’d be sleepless nights,
now I wait for your sweet laughter,
to ring in my dreams.

Pain it was, searing through me,
Ripping my being apart.
I held back tears and groans,
Knowing it was you all along.

I gave you life,
And you gave meaning to mine.

I am a mother. A vessel.


Your Body

Many thanks to Mythili for sending us this great poem. Mythili recounts her experience of growing up in the South Indian state of Kerala. Even after moving away from what she calls her first home, some scars remain deep. They are given voice through this poem about the Indian woman’s body.

your body

your body is not your own,
when it is owned, it is owned.
not by you, by your patronymic name
and when you grow up, by your wedded name.

your body is not your own,
when it belongs, it belongs
not to you, to your husband when he plays
and when you give birth, to your birth helper.

your body is not your own,
when it pains, it pains
not because of you, by the glaring gaze
and when you dress, by your invitation to play.

your body is not your own,
when it bleeds, it bleeds
not because of you, by the masked vigilante
and when you cry, by the misery of your doom.

your body is not your own,
when it satiates, it satiates
not you, the hungry passersby
and when you crumble, by the masochist ego.

your body is not your own,
when it breaks, it breaks
not because of you, by the Suleiman’s hand
and when you fall, by the megalomaniac.

your body is not your own,
when it is chained, it is chained
not because of you, by history
and when you die, by the daughter you leave behind.

We love when you send us things! You can always reach us at projectnaked@gmail.com or tweet us @project_naked. Art, poems, writing – however you want to tell the story of your body, we want to hear it.