I am a **** good woman.
I may not be perfect, but I am. Does that confuse you? I love the way my smile shines when I see my reflection, chip and all. I enjoy feeling my hair blow with wind, or wet upon my back. I can stand **** for hours, gazing at every curve, or lack there of, that has graced my silhouette with its presence over the past 19 years and 7 months. Content.
I am not curvaceous nor too thin. I stand before myself. Just a body that did not ask for it's formation when it was sent from heaven, still holding hips that will bear children, breast that will feed villages, hands to uplift the child.
I am a **** good woman.
I come from a womb of the strongest woman I know. I bleed blood from her veins, bared skin that she's given me. I am molded from great women. Their features arrange themselves on my face, their vocabulary runs rapid across my tongue, memories madly through my mind.
I am a **** good woman
I have loved fiercely with compassion. It is without vanity I have compromised myself to love.
I am a **** good woman.*
How dare you think I am not enough?
I came from your rib! I am a part of you.
I have walked miles for mankind, cried for those before us, hurt from wounds you thought were long healed.
Still, I rise.
Impatient to be loved by a man worthy of my greatness.
A man worthy of the long walks of lonesome, sight seeing of chauvinists and fools gold we mistook as lovers.
However
With or without man I am woman.
A **** good one at that.