A Taste For Flesh...
I am no coat hanger.
I do not flinch, when eyes devour me--
Not for undressing, nor for judgement.
I did not loose my femininity the day I emptied my lunch tray,
and if I fill a void, it is because
I long to feel the ache & pleasure of fullness
Because no man (nor woman) can make me
writhe in ecstasy
So surely as sucking salt & honey
From between my own two fingers.
I take pleasure in my apetites.
And it is not emptiness, now, which I armour against.
No. My legs are supple & strong.
My hips are made for hands to hold tight,
pull & wrap around;
My breasts are heavy & low
To show that I have been well-loved
FULL, so you can see the many sides of me
I have survived
& the many incarnations I have grown from.
Frida says, "Stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge."
I say we disappear for approval;
I say they want us to disappear in hopes
we'll never know ourselves.
But I am no coat-hanger. I am no sillouhette
Nor sylphe nor skeleton
For you to hang your shame & lace upon.
And when I wear red lipstick,
It is not for your pleasure.
It is because I was made to start fires & stir my own hunger.
It is a warning
That I am a woman;
that I am taller than sky-scrapers
& wider than the sea;
That burning, red-hot blood pumps
madly through my veins
& I will not disappear
-- not a single inch of me --
to make you feel comfortable.