I am a girl-woman:
A woman with minuscule breasts
They barely fit in A-cups
And can't hold up a strapless dress
I used to curse my booblets
I thought they were a real drag
Now I consider myself lucky
Because they're simply too small to sag
They just won't do it.

-- Corrie Pikul, New York, N.Y.

My neck cracks. Ankle
flecked with odd blue veins -- who knew?
Three-three: My summer.

The chicks dig it not:
Like Yoda, shorter I am.
Inch on Farhad though

Ate. Drank. Just fucked it.
The body I made is mine
to accept or change

-- Christopher Rusho, Ocean Beach, Calif.

It finally happened at 30
my body left its confines
after years of spinning turbines
the cigarettes and wine glasses
of twentysomething dating classes.

The butt that never gained a thing
a lure for men, a giggling thing
that danced all night in gowns once worn
by tiny 20s movie stars.

But now a meal lasts a great deal longer
than lingering eyes over wine and pasta
and goes to my thighs like white on rice.
Hey Mom - I've discovered cellulite!

How now begins this epic battle?
Will esteem drop with hips that waddle?
I've heard the elders mutter bitter
of tits that sag, how men must gag
and that one day I'll understand.

But this precious territory
is sadly, only temporary
And it's the only one I've got
for life's in motion, life is not
the perfect frozen laundry list
the measure of the men you've kissed,
so let me die an onanist!

-- Zoe Greenberg, New York, N.Y.

My magnificent ass
Hides behind me like
A shy child clinging to its mother
It is a barnacle on a ship
Unwilling to be pried off with will or force
It is my own version of a Kentucky waterfall
Business in front, party in the rear
Unfortunately, the party is getting rowdy
And I think there may be a wrestling match going on back there.
But no chair is too hard
No bench too uncomfortable
For this super-convenient, ultra-soft, |ber-padded rear
Perhaps God is trying to tell me something?
Pass the remote.

-- T. Fenniak, Edmonton, Canada

Saddlebags.
Straight out of a Saturday afternoon western
I've got 'em.
Packin' twin sacs either side of my hips
The likes of which size me a sub-waist 12 or 14
Perpetually.
Nice shoulders
Nice neck
Long legs, arms, hands, feet
Wrists and ankles narrow and slim
Bellybutton? Vertical. And taut.
My back's even been called Superhero
Oh--
and I'm Tall.
BUT.
Butt my hips.
My ravenous, gluttonous, hoarding hips.
THERE IS NO IMPENDING FAMINE
I see my body as an otherwise long smooth perpetual line
assaulted
by hungry bumps.
Unrequited Perfection.
I'm still young and vain and stupid enough to court that sadistic bastard.

-- Amanda Henkel, Cambridge, Mass.

My smile
Is almost as wide as my ass
And in the echo of my laugh
You might not notice
The extra weight to my arms
Or legs
Or stomach
But I do
It's an uphill battle to not care
That my body could fill a phone booth
Even as I know the part that really counts
Could fill a stadium.

-- Kimli Welsh, Vancouver, B.C.

I love my Dad
but hate his chin
his chin is my chin
It starts at his jaw
and goes to his collar
Like a turkey
I see my future
in his chin
gobble gobble gobble
Plastic surgery at 35
Just Do It.

-- Jennifer Levett

The face in the picture is some old broad
Scarier yet,
My mother, perhaps.
All those lines of longitude
Between my brows
Hollowing my cheeks
Turning my lower jaw into Howdy Doody.

I don't see the same me in the mirror
Only in photos.
What's with the selective perception?

I could afford a face-lift
Yank everything up and along the equator
Wear turtle necks over my turtle-neck
Or
I could burn that picture
And keep smiling at the mirror

-- BilliDawn Schoggen

My belly is my grandmother's
The legacy of Northern starches -
A product of Germany and Scandinavia

Lefse smothered with butter
Dumplings as big as softballs
Potatoes drowning in gravy

Krumkaker smothered in whipped cream
Sandbakkles full of almonds
Brown Betty bursting with apples

My niece has the same belly
To her it's the Hoff Family Belly
And she's damn proud of hers.

-- Brenda Brant, Eau Claire, Wis.

i have, almost exactly,
my mother's body:
hips that start too high, too wide,
a small waist (comparatively, at least).
where others may have
birthing hips
we have birthing thighs.
i see where i will be
thirty years from now,
a little heavier,
arms doing
that flapping thing
when i wave,
(and a butt that's wide,
but side-to-side,
and never a booty will be.)
i have my mother's body,
almost exactly,
but god is not just,
and i don't think this is funny:
while my mom,
who gave me life and a little back fat
is really kinda stacked,
i'm not even a B.

-- Jaime Green, New York, N.Y.

I have always been
Tall and thin
Thanks to good ol' Dad
I once had a body of
Enviable perfection
To the gym 6 days a week I went
With a soul full of sad
But now I've found the pleasures of a beer
And food
Sleeping in rather than 8 a.m. cardio
Shared with a great guy
And two dogs
So cheers to less muscular perfection
A body which is no longer so tightly cut
It has finally grown enough room
For a soul full of glee
Just do it.

-- Karen, Atlanta, Ga.

My puku protrudes:
a little girl once asked as I biked past "are you pregnant?"
No, I just really like chocolate. The boobs are worse:
"You're an f-cup", said the nice lady A what cup?
At least I have a shelf to sit my snacks on.

-- Kathy Lowry, New Zealand ("puku" means belly in Maori)

My body sings a song of decay,
of sagging and creased flesh, of knees that ache,
of brown spots dotting my hands.
(But, by God, my hair in the mirror is
brown,
though in photographs it is
snow white.)

My body sings of lymphoma,
of carcinomas,
of acid reflux,
of seboriah,
of herniated discs.

And I celebrate them all for they are proof
of God's creation,
and of the revelation
that all of life
is built upon death.

-- Case Wagenvoord

Ode to My Physical Inheritance

I drew the genetic short straw:
Jiggly potato-farming thighs
Like two jello molds under a napkin
From the big side of the family.
Very small breasts
That even Wonderbra can't help
From the little side of the family.
Dammit!
Why couldn't it have been the other way around?
But then again
If I had gloriously slender thighs
And an eye-poppingly bodacious bosom
I would probably tip over all the time
Because I'm also kind of clumsy
(But I don't know where I got that from.)
So I guess it's just as well.
Or at least,
That's what I'll keep telling myself.

-- Kate Hagerty, Somerville, Mass.

Narcissus Trims His Nose Hair

For nearly thirty seven years
I had control of nose and ears
Smooth skin upon the conch and lobe
And nostrils clean as Manitobe

But time and genes bedevil me
My good health lost to revelry
I'm sprouting gardens in these holes
Profuse enough to shelter voles

Now naked fore the glass I stand
Electric clippers in my hand
To prune these bushes back to stumps
And check my testicles for lumps

Strange growths from body, mind and head
At least they're signs that I'm not dead

-- JD Frey

My back is curved,
my knees don't straighten,
my feet are sort of fat...
probably because I've never walked on them.

The doctors have their words for me:
spinal muscular atrophy,
scoliosis, edema, and peripheral neuropathy...
"Supposed to die by age 3."

And I? I have my words:
battle-scarred and tattoo-decorated,
unconventional, curvy, and intuitive,
Twenty-five, healthy, confident, and sexy...

Beautiful.

-- Becky Blitch, Ms. Wheelchair Florida 2005, Largo, Fla.

i'm proud of the lines on my face
and the stretch marks on my belly
my two kids have certainly been worth
this glorious texture like jelly

i could take better care of myself
and mindfully i know i should
but most days i feel so young and free
i've never been one to argue with good

my body surely tells the story
of a young girl turned to woman
but i'm still so short of stature
oh, why did i stop growin'?

-- April M. Wilson, Richmond, Va.

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