I AM

You don’t see me

when you airbrush

fill, lift, 

smooth.

You don’t see me

when you homogenize, 

erase

remove.

 

My skin’s not alabaster.

Hairless,

unweathered, 

untouched,

immobile,

unloved.

 

My curves don’t conform

to your limited map

of bosom and butt.

My body

topography 

flows 

its own sweet

course.

 

I am 

fickle freckles,

winter hibernators

that sprinkle and spread

in the sun.

I am 

strong wiry

hairs that thrive on my 

toes.

I am 

small soft breasts

that diverge

like sulking spouses.

I am 

the raw ridged

rise on my shin

the horse-fly’s

feast.

I am 

the soft

downy fuzz

that only he sees.

I am 

the pike-shaped

coffee-stained

mark on my knee.

I am the wobble

that was once 

a life-bearing drum.

 

I am 

selective

muffled ears

that choose not to hear

your criticism.

I am shiny

virgin hair -

my crown’s glory.

I am long-sighted

eyes

that accept 

my story.

 

You don’t see me

when you airbrush

fill, lift, 

smooth.

You don’t see me

when you homogenize, 

erase

remove.