the trouble lies
in your thighs
plump skin, of pink, apricot, nutmeg
fresh flesh fetched far
taught to knee, cuffed at ankle
red carpet to round hips
they ripple, as you stomp
as they should
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear tree house

she is a willow girl
her legs, they wind
country lanes that slim and thin
less lard, longer length
one music note to pink, apricot, nutmeg toes
pillars under sacred, upholding
the light twist of hips
is there the same problem
does it there lie
in that girl's thighs?

your thighs are equally moulded
pink, apricot, nutmeg
soft and plump and trembling, still
in mountains, or molehills
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear house
she is a willow tree girl of birch place
together, women
you have thighs
and neither of
those thighs
lies

The spaces between their thighs
signified
the act of vomiting and starvation,
or just really good metabolism
a small appetite
genes
but
considering that their instagram
has no photos of food
but filled with selfies
of their thin legs donning patterns
maybe they have that problem.
But they are beautiful-
I suppose.
I draw them without clothes.
Confidence in a pose.
and I, with my curves,
wouldn't mind to appear like them,
sans *****.
So I eat
and I work.
And I stare in the mirror,
and see the tiniest space
right below my womanhood,
and muscles
closing in
I guess it's healthy,
just not thin.