I’m not supposed to find this attractive.

It’s taboo.

We’re told only smooth will do,

pink and tight elastic

tied to remedies, sold over counters of despair.

You have to care about the bounce,

virtue by the fluid ounce.

We’re absolutely not allowed

to love the mirror’s twin.

Tucks, lifts, elevations

not this naked admiration; shameless.

 

I don’t know when it happened,

how rejection turned to deafness to derision.

But when you live in gravity,

be comfortable with gravity.

See how it sculpts every second

of your twenty square feet

and half a century.

Your frame is your reference, allow it

to contain, crinkle, breathe; let it regulate

miraculous design.

You have the power,

desire beats hate hands down

because you’re worth it.