See how my belly
is round and soft,
not flat like an ironing board
meant for mindless domesticity,
but round like a globe--
earthy, maternal~
blue glittering jewel shining
from my umbilicus as if
it were the Meditteranean.
See how my breasts are not
schoolgirl apples in September,
but July coconuts full of
sweet nurturing milk.
See how my buttocks do not
form a perfect heart, but
instead a pear, a fruit
rare and sought after,
a delicacy and my
favorite diamond shape.
See how my hands are not
manicured to perfection,
but hands that can open
a bottle of Jack Daniel's
and rub a man's feet.
See how my lips are
not delicate rosebuds...
no, bruised and puffy
from searching for my
lover's sweet tongue.
See how my body is
no longer eighteen and trembling,
but the body of a woman
who dares to be real.
I am woman.
My roar is beautiful.
Listen, listen
to my curves.
They want to tell you
an ancient tale.
