Staring through yourself
Into the mirror, you wonder –
What atrocious act you’ve committed
To deserve this young, but sagging body;
This too-round face and dirty
Brown eyes glaring back
In hollow ambiguity.
Your hip bones are indiscernible,
Your belly quivers in a bread dough
Jiggle of overindulgence and hidden shame.
Your man hands reach backside, once thought sexy,
Now understood as imperfect and oblong.
But her, wow. Just look. She’s radiant;
Her smile a washing warmth,
Her swagger a soft swishy sashay.
Her breasts, perfectly capped with cold
and bobbing unencumbered.
Her backside a mesmerizing pendulum.
As she walks, she casts a numbness over
Senses and eye-movement. You are caught
In her gaze, her ass, her sensual sway.
You think of her in the mirror,
Hands careening over those worshipped bits.
She is a goddess of confidence, clueless.
But, she is you, is she not?
Little do you know her obsessions
Over cheek dimples and roll overs.
When she sits she fidgets with shirt lengths
And riding shorts, worries about thigh
Dimples And perky-enough-breasts.
She sweats internally from her too-fucking-early
Sexualized childhood, which convinces her
That life is some sort of overdrawn porn;
That she must be sexy, and it’s her only
Redeeming quality- her ability to harden
Certain male appendages.
But if you only knew that each Earthbound goddess
That struts past you spends hours in scrutiny
Strutting past demon mirrors of her own.
And that you’re all god loved goddesses,
If you could only see your pillows of flesh as
Intentionally placed comfort for men and babes alike,
And find comfort in your own unique humanity-
That which makes you you.
If you could only see how others see you
In your laughter and untamed silliness.
You would know that to someone,
You are the confident goddess who rules the world.