Speaking as a woman

I’m not perfectly shaved
My “tummy” isn’t “cute” or “flat”
or perfect for that matter either
I don’t straighten my hair
it isn’t straight to begin with
I don’t tweeze or shape or color my brows
A story has begun on my body
Of course I have sexy panties and stockings
But the next one doesn’t get to see them
Until I am SURE

I won’t be wearing my Uggs with leggings
To go out and get him a Starbucks
I don’t eat chia seeds on my salad
I’m a bacon bits kind of girl
And I fucking LOVE bread and dessert

I like wearing boxer shorts to bed
And tank tops
And baggy sweats
And jeans are god’s gift to mankind
Tee shirts yes and silver and did someone say boots?
Doc Marten is a friend
Yes there are heels in the closet
And they get put on when I feel the inclination

My breasts are heavy and real
The center of my body made a baby years ago
And I’ll never be able to recover fully
Without a surgeon’s attention
But my son walks this earth, strong and sure
And my woman body was made to ensure just that
Not to serve as an anonymous object, to please some mindless stranger

Friends tell me I’m petite
But I stomp around my place on the phone
Like a fully-grown clydesdale
And these friends aren’t the fairweather kind
And all our selfies look different. Every time.

I’m open to hello and I’d rather smile than rest my “bitch face”
I laugh big and I shake your hand for real
I find understanding in the grasping and affirming feel
of another adult’s physical greeting
I learned and still believe
Those that can’t or don’t should never be suffered for more than acquaintance sake

I cry at puppy rescues and returning soldiers
and every time Samantha finally gets Jake
Or when four famous NYC friends raise a cosmopolitan toast as the camera pulls away

And when some old guitar or sax riff just digs in and won’t let go
I’ll sing and probably dance
Because my body tells me to
I’m a fan of serenades and impromptu shower solos

My body is sturdy
And being held and handled is required
But my active passivity is matched by my need and desire
I find myself craving men who are like bears
You’ll likely never meet a hungrier woman/girl/lady

Social media gets much of my love hate
But you won’t catch me changing profile photos every week
Or bragging about how strong I am when there’s nothing I truly suffer for
Or posting quote after quote about sweetness and kindness and light
While I won’t walk in the cities or look at real life

Politics and world affairs drive me insane
And I want to talk about them
Because I’ve read and I’ve listened and I’ve travelled enough to know we’re not alone
And as far as I can tell you’ll never catch me on the street confirming society’s belief in the average person’s stupidity
Unable to even give you the Vice President’s name

I know things, but I don’t understand which way to hang curtains
We don’t use placemats here
Napkin holders? Gravy boats? Doilies? Family china?
No thank you
The only “linens” I have are for washing, sleeping and wiping, and they don’t often match
Ask me about my small collection of beach towels and my favorite blanket
Because sand and sea are a necessity and I will get dirty or snow covered
(maybe not the snow so much)

I’m not a fantasy doll figure
With perfect skin
The only thing “delicate” and “slender” about me now are my hands
And maybe my nose
I’m still soft and I like to smell good
I wiggle my toes
I loved to be curled up in arms larger than mine
I want to feel protected
Ached for

And I don’t expect my perfect man to be chiseled or ripped
I don’t fantasize about his tight ass
or delts or  wallet
or fancy car
or a giant desk in a big corner office
that he claims because he wins all day
Or his gym card
Or his body spray
Or a closet full of power ties
Or some male domination display in a grocery store line

I fantasize about a human man
With a soul and I don’t care if he has funny toenails
He might have hair on his chest but less on his head
Maybe he likes beer as much as I like bread
And he has a scent that lingers and makes me smile
Makes deep sounds when he’s close and needs to hold me
Who might sing along when the music’s loud in the car
A man with big arms to carry
A huge heart
Maybe his was broken too
And he’s careful and hopeful like me

I’d love for that man to love the human in me
to be who he is and see what I am
and want everything
With the nicks and the scratches
And the history
And I want to love and lust him back meaningfully
And share and work through all confusion we share
as members of the same species but the opposite sex

I’m not a hot young thing anymore
I never was, if I’m honest
In my thoughts I’m quietly seeking a legit partner
I’ve been through the pile you know
I’ve fished the sea
I don’t know if there’s even still one out there meant to get hooked
But I love “ocean” and “love” analogies
We all come from the water when all’s said and done
We all come from the slime and the salty

As I keep getting to know my own self
The one I hope to find will know all this
And we’ll walk together with dirty feet and happy eyes and hands
Because our insides will match
Despite how the world tells us our outsides are supposed to be


2 thoughts on “Speaking as a woman

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