All About the Body

My body?  It’s sharp.
            I suppose that’s really the best way to describe it.  It’s angular, harsh, unloving.  Unforgiving.
            It’s the type of body that says, Fuck off.  Don’t touch.  Not for you.
            My veins run the length of my sinewy arms, pale violet streaks of watercolor that enlarge when my heart rate is up.  My arms look as easy to break as my legs do, which quite frankly defy logic every day when they hold up the rest of my body. 
            My shoulders?  My shoulders could poke an eye out as they run thin, thin, thinner from the collarbone straight out to the side and then suddenly cave in and drop to become my bicep.  The aforementioned collarbones are two handlebars to do pull-ups on; my entire chest plate pushes against my “breasts,” threatening to break through.  My sternum is easily visible.
            My knobby ankles, my thin, spindly fingers and dagger fingernails, my jutting wrist bones and my pointy hips are all a walking hazard, a visual invitation to not come any closer.  I revolt, I repel, and I adore every moment of it.
            I repel because to be a woman is to be soft.  To be soft is to have a healthy layer of fat around the body; arms with the proper balance of muscle tone and thick skin, hips with something to hold onto, an ass that resembles a plump summer nectarine, no gap between the thighs and a voluptuous bra-full of tits.  To have a soft body is welcoming, inviting, warm, nurturing.  It says, Come here, lay your head on my chest.  Let me stroke your hair and whisper into your ear; let me walk for you and dance for you and exist, only for you.  This type of body, the real woman.
            But what people fail to realize is, softness doesn’t equate with yes.  Not being strong enough to lift a heavy package doesn’t mean I want your help.  Soft lips and beautiful teeth doesn’t mean yours should press up against them.  Heavily made-up eyes and pretty fingernails doesn’t mean thread your hands through mine.  Curvy hips don’t mean grab onto them, full breasts don’t whisper Touch me, a certain degree of thickness around the middle doesn’t mean wrap your arms around it.  Softness doesn’t mean yes just as sharpness doesn’t mean yes.

            You know what means yes? Yes.


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