skin polished
with oils, salt and husks
i gleam
with perfumed butters and musk
silken smooth flesh
like living warm honey
i languish
in the golden light of dusk
limbs naked
under silks and plush
i wait

i wait for you

This poem was written after watching a few hours of slam poetry on Youtube. Let me know what you think...it's my first shot at slam poetry.*

There are so many words flowing around out there about the big girls. The thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls. About their plush and soft exteriors, their abundant backsides, their willingness to accept themselves and their hopefulness that others will do the same. Their….thereness.
They are beautiful, don’t get me wrong.
They are beautiful.

But what about the skinny girls?

The small girls with petite builds and large hearts and an aversion to the word short. The size two and under girls, the drive thru can’t gain a pound girls, the I AM NOT ANNOREXIC OR BULLEMIC girls.

The girls who will always be referred to as “pixie-like” or “waif-like” or “twig-like.” The perfect model body girls that all of the other girls hate…because of their lack of fat.

Aren’t they beautiful?

The girls with the size 32 bust line, the girls who, at 24, still shop in the junior sections of department stores. The girls who, regardless of their age, their strengths and weaknesses, their experiences, heartaches and joys, disappointments and triumphs, their want or need for life and love will always look like they missed a meal or gave it back purposefully with the intent of becoming even thinner. The girls who, no matter how ******* HARD they try, cannot even weigh 100 lbs soaking ******* wet.

Aren’t they beautiful?

The big girls have to search and search for cute and **** and attractive clothes because of their size. Guess what? So do the skinny girls. Do you know ******* hard it is to find a pair of pants with a size zero waist and a 34 inch leg? To finally find an extra small shirt that doesn’t have one of the top three cartoon characters of the time plastered across the front?

All I’m saying is yes, the thick girls, the curvy girls, the p-h-a-t phat girls…
They are beautiful.

But ******, so am I.

Of Her parents home
with blood gushing from her wrists
clothes that look like they've been through the shredder
bleeding mascara and the deepest holes for eyes
for once they'll crowd her, worried,
and ask,
"Who or, o-or what di-d-did this to you...?"
Her Mother will stutter through confusion
And the girl will reply with,
"It was me."
Empty and cold, She'll stand bleeding
Her mother will whimper and her father
is never anywhere to be seen.

have you ever even
considered
the
perfection
of the human
skull?

he said to me,
pacing the room
and punctuating each
sentence with his
arms

how many millions
of lives it must of taken
to form the perfect
curve that slopes back
so that rain water
falls easily off
and yet
the well-trained
can balance ten books
for over ten minutes?

have you ever even
thought about
how much
that simple *****
changes from the time
you are born?

he stared at me,
frenzied anger burning
in his eyes

(I was as unsure why
and as he was, I’m sure)

how can you sit there
and call yourself smart
when you have never ever
considered such simple
matters?

intelligence is wasted
on the ambitious

he spat out

they never stop to consider
just how much we’ve already
accomplished