My human shell bears the scars
of motherhood.
Slightly drooping breasts,
scarred from giving milk to newborns,
are still full enough to playfully squeeze,
sensitive enough to become erect.
Stretched out skin from my abdomen,
especially the lower abdomen,
bore first the weight of a woman baby
to carry the human species,
then the larger man baby
to be a strong dna provider.
I do not compare myself to an 18 or 20
year old or even to one who has been blessed
with 'pliable skin' genes.
I compare myself to how I might look
if I did not exercise,
if I did not try to avoid too many
delicious, tasty treats,
if I did not have confidence.
I know that I am beautiful
despite the scars, inside and out.
Beautiful inside and out.
Scars inside and out.
If a person would jeer at me,
then I say 'Let them jeer.'
For each one who jeers,
there will be a hundred who cheer.