I am not a body.
I am not two legs, two arms, two breasts.
I am not thunder thighs or thigh gap,
nor bingo wings, nor bikini bridge.
I am not a whistle.
I am not dancing to the pulsing of strings.
I am not for rent, sold on three beers.
I am not the keychain on a luxury car.
I am not a number scaled from one to ten.
I am a body.
I am words fluid in a dry throat,
exasperated by too many “yes but”s and “whatever you say”s.
I am thighs that run for president.
I am hips that bear miracles.
I am arms that fight for enough room to live in.
I am a stomach that rises and falls.
I am the ebb and flow of the galaxy.
I am space.
I am present.
I am female.