Perfect

“I’ve got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget. I’ve got a perfect body, cause my eyelashes catch my sweat.” – Regina Spektor

I celebrate this body of mine in all its rubenesque glory.

This body has grown a human, birthed, and nourished a wonderful human boy.

These hips are glorious and perfect for resting a child on or a bag of groceries as I fish in my purse for the keys to my house.

This body of mine moves me through the water like a mermaid, exploring 100 feet below the surface.

My legs are strong enough to carry me up a Mayan pyramid 138 feet in height, even though my weight classifies me as obese. My legs are beautifully shaped with strong calves and soft thighs in which I rejoice. 

Parts of my story are written on my flesh in stretch marks and scars and tattoos.  I admire them all.

This body is my instrument in which I give pleasure to the lovers I have had… with my mouth and my tongue, my teeth, my fingers, my cunt. My small breasts are perfect handfuls of firm loveliness, capped with nipples that respond to your touch with an electric current straight to my clit.

My body has learned to receive pleasure as well, after years of work to reclaim that part of me from those who tried to rob me of that connection to myself. My body is now capable of intense orgasms that feel like a sunburst from my core shooting out my eyelashes and toes and fingers...orgasms that take me out of this atmosphere. 

I reclaim my body from the shame heaped upon it by a society that finds women over a size six to be fat. I reclaim my body from the men who violated its sanctity; this body belongs to me and no one else.  I reclaim my body from my own internalized bullshit…the negative voices that point out my flaws.

This is my body, the only one that I have.  So I choose to love it, to honor it, to revel in its perfection. After all, my eyelashes really do catch my sweat.