i look in the mirror
and what do i see?
two lumbering hips, staring back at me.
around to the front, as i sneer with disgust
a belly; round, soft, and robust.
marked with the scars of childbearing years
stained by all the self-deprecating tears.
i turn to the left, shift my body upright
catch glimpse of my ever-fleshy backside ...
and with watering eyes, i look at my feet;
at least those are cute and petite.
prominent ankles, tomboyish stems
sometimes i think my body is condemned.
i claw at my porcine thighs
nowt i can do to hide
i should stop stomping on my pride.
broad shoulders to steady my burdens
a strong back to carry my children
corpulent arms that sway when i walk
small hands that help me to talk ....
i'm built like a teapot
short and stout
here are my love handles
my neck is the spout;
stretching up to the sky when i sing,
holding my head when i scream.
i'm not dainty, graceful, or lean.
i'll never be tall, precious, or thin.
not cute as a button
or fair as a fawn.
i've been built to work
until my life is done..
genetics have made me the way that i claim,
and i'll try to remember not to be ashamed.
i'd rather keep my smarts than have more sex appeal.
i'd rather be rational than beautifully surreal.
i'm happier as the 'go to' when someone's distressed,
than be a bar-hopping, spoiled, eye-candied hot mess.
i take solace that i'll make a good wife.
i take pride that i've lived a hard life.
i'm pleased my maternal instincts are sound.
i'm thrilled to have good friends around,
to pick me up when i do hit the ground.
my body, my temple, my biological car.
you've served me well, you've got me this far.
you're not what i wanted, or expected at all.
and like my character, you're nowhere near small.
i'm stuck with you for the rest of my days.
you'll change like the weather when i change with age.
some days i'll loathe you, like a pain in my ass.
i'll cry, beg, and plead - stare at you like you're trash.
other days i will wear you, with admiration and worth.
put you up on a pedestal, not feeling cursed.
my feelings on this are fleeting and banal.
but i am a woman, after all.
and what do i see?
two lumbering hips, staring back at me.
around to the front, as i sneer with disgust
a belly; round, soft, and robust.
marked with the scars of childbearing years
stained by all the self-deprecating tears.
i turn to the left, shift my body upright
catch glimpse of my ever-fleshy backside ...
and with watering eyes, i look at my feet;
at least those are cute and petite.
prominent ankles, tomboyish stems
sometimes i think my body is condemned.
i claw at my porcine thighs
nowt i can do to hide
i should stop stomping on my pride.
broad shoulders to steady my burdens
a strong back to carry my children
corpulent arms that sway when i walk
small hands that help me to talk ....
i'm built like a teapot
short and stout
here are my love handles
my neck is the spout;
stretching up to the sky when i sing,
holding my head when i scream.
i'm not dainty, graceful, or lean.
i'll never be tall, precious, or thin.
not cute as a button
or fair as a fawn.
i've been built to work
until my life is done..
genetics have made me the way that i claim,
and i'll try to remember not to be ashamed.
i'd rather keep my smarts than have more sex appeal.
i'd rather be rational than beautifully surreal.
i'm happier as the 'go to' when someone's distressed,
than be a bar-hopping, spoiled, eye-candied hot mess.
i take solace that i'll make a good wife.
i take pride that i've lived a hard life.
i'm pleased my maternal instincts are sound.
i'm thrilled to have good friends around,
to pick me up when i do hit the ground.
my body, my temple, my biological car.
you've served me well, you've got me this far.
you're not what i wanted, or expected at all.
and like my character, you're nowhere near small.
i'm stuck with you for the rest of my days.
you'll change like the weather when i change with age.
some days i'll loathe you, like a pain in my ass.
i'll cry, beg, and plead - stare at you like you're trash.
other days i will wear you, with admiration and worth.
put you up on a pedestal, not feeling cursed.
my feelings on this are fleeting and banal.
but i am a woman, after all.
