But I don’t want to have a body anymore. I want to be it. I don’t want to carry it around. I don’t want it to be my pimp, to send it out looking for people to bring home to love me. I don’t want to dress it enemy soldier when it causes me pain, and fight back with chemical warfare. I don’t want to lie in bed, trembling and alone beside it, as if beside a sullen lover who refuses to be cheered. I’m tired of having a body. I just want to be my body. Not be in it. Not be over here, relating to my body over there.