they tell us not to be defined
by our bodies
yet my innocence is tied
to my hymen's status
my appeal tied
to the circumference of my thighs
though beauty may come
in all shapes and sizes
it is only recognized
as the number on the tag
of that little black dress
you match with heels
that cut into your ankles
and lead to stares
that cut into your confidence
"compliments" rain down
and you're not given an umbrella
or at least a fucking raincoat
so you end up drowning, sopping
wet with your sexuality
your ability play down your education
and play up your physical attributes
so my worth is tied
to how much i can disappear
my careful use of measuring cups
reading labels like books
but let me tell you,
there is nothing sensous about
shoving a spoon down your throat
and salads may be sexy
but i can't have sex with you
when my blood sugar is this low
while you admire
my "womanly" curves
i am haunted by what it took
to get my stomach to lay flat
so fuck the desire for delicate wrists
these expectations are too heavy to carry
in these goddamn coach purses