A collection of small poems (Lo fi beats and rain in the background)

Body talks

What do you think of me?
I want to know if your eyes have caught the marks on my legs, or the way my hips push out and struggle against cotton, wiggling, supporting me and my plush thighs.

My skin is so soft. The lines along my body are from growth. I have grown out of my home and my heart, I need to be repotted but instead your lower roots will choke me.

I am full, full of nourishment and fat and love. My curves will tell you a story of insecurity but the truth,
is that I am confident.

My arms will flap like wings, but I am no caged bird.

My muscles are hidden under softness because you can't handle my strength.

I hope you see a woman.

My breasts are for babies and women at coffeeshops who read poetry or play the piano. They will be pinkish yellowish and so soft.
They are not for you.

I hope you notice how tight my jeans are. Not because I want to fit in and shrink myself, but because I want the fabric to show you what you can't have.

My lips are curved just right, and my dimples won't fill themselves for you.

Swimsuits fold against my belly, holding me like a hug. Eyes may travel in curiosity. They critique my body like it is
theirs to put between their lips.

"Stop telling people it's okay to look like that, it's so unhealthy!"

Health is not a size or shape. Health is a full body experiment in sound mind and beating heart. You'd rather my body starve and suffer so I look like what you feel comfortable around. 

No fucking way. I will laugh and body will shake with My joy.

I will dance and the floor will creak underneath My feet.

"I'm sorry someone made you feel badly about the way you look!" I shout back.

So maybe the truth is,

I don't mind so much what you think of me.