Curvaceous

At 23, I was reintroduced to myself
A smaller
more curvaceous me
lay dormant within
until the weight loss
the loss of
her shelter
and bunker
forced her out
into a world that was aware
of her presence
long before I was

Curvaceous
ample
twisting
undulating
a composition of
soft parabolas
of earth and stars
a formula of nature and genetics
Perfect
just
the
way
it
is

The curves of my face
so much like my mother’s
are the stage for emotions
I can’t – or fear to –
put into words
My thoughts made
loud and clear
A private open book

The curves of my breasts and hips
the promising signs of
the motherhood
I’m not sure I want
but the indicators or
the strong
Junoesque
women I stem from
Ones that I bear
without shame

The curves of my legs
the arches of my feet
support the weight of 26 years
worth of memories
sweet as summer fruit
and lessons
bitter as leafy greens
and just as beneficial
Loyal and reliable
these curves will continue
to carry me through more
peaks and valleys

At 23, I met a version of myself
that was to stick around
for awhile
Curvaceous in ways
that more than
meet the
eye

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