This could be about how big the divide between rich and poor is,
Or the victims history could be this poems focus.
Maybe I could write about the implications and complications
of being young,
Or perhaps the politics of exploitation and occupation
could be my tale.
But I aint even tryna go
This aint about nothing more than all that cushion for the pushing
Coming to terms with the fact that no matter what you eat
or what you do
some thing's will always be a part of you.
I know it's hard growing up before you should
because your ass, hips and thighs tryna get out as fast they could.
It got harder knowing that baggy track bottoms
would do nothing more than cling to the bottom.
Running track in PE looking like the slightest movement
would expose me.
Lamenting the fact that skinny fit and drain pipe
were not made with my shape in mind.
Hard to be so young really only wanting to stay
oblivious to the difference between her and him.
Not knowing why but just desperate to be slim
taking up hate for my body as a life-long occupation
on a whim.
Not being taught that it's ok to be me
so I do everything to resemble she.
Forcing down my throat the whole grain,
whole wheat alternative to soulful soul food I'm used to.
I tried the rice cracker and the paper wafer
with endless nothing toppings.
Of air butter and oxygen jam,
miles and miles and miles
performing perfect squats and lunges
and lunges and squats
to cage in this fat
and hold in this glut.
But the truth is it just aint worth the fuss.
No matter what
I will never be negatively sized
So I make the choice to just love these thighs.
Now when the world tries to convince me
that bones is what it means to be full grown,
well I'll just shake my jelly to my own certainty
Satisfied with what my mama gave me.
Celebrating that femininity is not just her or her
or even me
it's in all the different forms of sexy
in the United Shapes of We.
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