Breasts do not need to be symmetrical and now women are combining back to school shopping of folders, pencils and skinny jeans with breast jobs.
How long must we wait for a body to grow into itself before taking control of its growth spurt?
None of us will really know what 70 will look like if we keep sewing strands of botox into skin to see how dead we can really become.
All I notice is their skinny. Their flat bellies and I compare it to my folded one. I want to notice the strength of her laugh and the way she can lift my imagination into something far more colorful just by looking at me. All I notice is the starvation in her teeth and the way her hair looks ready to run away from her scalp due to lack of iron and oil. I want to notice her brain smeared against me from all her questions and contemplations and yes, I did know koalas weren’t bears but when you told me, it felt new. All I notice is that thick red scar by her shoulder and the way she shakes when her voice moves to past tense. I want to notice her strength found in each blink and breath. All I notice is her bones, jutting out like bamboo. All I notice is her shirt untucked and wrinkled. All I notice is her tattoo misspelled and infected. All I notice is her missing tooth, the roots revealing her real hair color, the way in which her eye contact droops downward. All I notice is the ways in which I notice her.
Everything is shaved. Razors practice manners when getting too close to the delicate parts. Aren’t you curious how long it could get? Why are some places permitted to grow tangled, while others must be silenced beneath smooth? I search for stubble; impatience never allows it to arrive. I used to use a battery-operated razor, moved to plastic when I preferred blood to be lifted out of legs too. Never waxed or plucked or lazer’d. A lover hisses at the stain of smell left on her sleeve. She questions the intent of my deodorant. I tell her I forget sometimes. My fear of cancer overrides the waft of fake flowers beneath my sweat.
You want to pull on this, I ask.
You want to suck out the juice of my day, I taunt.
Smooth is meant for sidewalks and orange juice and butter when it melts against charred bread. This body of mine is hairy and I am looking for a lover who has a fondness for itch and wool.
Bodies are being purchased in more ways than one. Envy is an instrument we use like a hammer to chisel ourselves into something better.
STOP……maybe we are all OK just like this…..