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I’m Glad You Like

I’m glad you like my sacks
of yellow fat
that have accumulated over time
and now just kind of wobble
like vestigial agar
on a petri dish,
half- slathered in deodorant
and concealed.
I’m glad you’re vocal
about liking the junction
of my mouth,
which pouts
evolutionarily to take sips
and produce ‘m’ noises.
And these two stalks
my pelvis perches on –
I’m glad you like those too.
They’re elegant and serviceable,
the ligaments, nerves and muscles
make walking in stilettos
and muay thai
much easier than going without.
I am a symphony
of practicality.
I am a harmony
of functionality.
I know I emit body heat
without being told I’m hot,
and that my eyes reflect light
without being told they’re bright.
I don’t need strangers
telling me
their opinions of me
because I know me
better than you,
and I don’t need
a wet meaty gaze
to feel beautiful.

7 Dec 17

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(190 more poems by this author)

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