At the six week check-up after birth, the nurse looked between my legs and said I’m healing. And then she said, 'You’re OK to have sex again'...
And I thought, 'Fuck you.'
What the nurse meant was: 'You can now insert a penis into your vagina without any negative post-birth-related health effects.' That does not mean I am ready to have sex. That doesn’t mean I want to have sex. My vagina is OK, maybe, thanks for that. My head, no. And sex isn’t just a penis in a vagina, no matter what Victorian sex education or Hollywood scenes teach us.

Excerpt from the poem ‘Breasts’ :

and sometimes it seems like my body's not mine
'cos for over a year it's been for someone else
and I don't recognise it and I don't have the right to it
and she gropes me all day
and as soon as she's sleeping
then he wants to play
and I wonder when I might have some time to myself
'cos I don't have the adult time he has at work
and I don't think he gets that
and he jokes my boobs used to be his
and now they're for her
and I don't think that's fair
because they're mine

THEY ARE ACTUALLY MINE