The One They Watch


I am no longer the one they gaze at,

walking into walls for a glimpse of hip

and tight tee. My curves are rounder, fuller

than thin, lithe girls not yet woman enough

to teach them manners and mischief alike.

At peace with the body of goddess,

rather than nymph, I walk with head held high,

my stride not a strut, and yet still with wiggle

enough to entice the glance of the men

who know this experience and beauty

are better than hips bones and odd angles,

who can tell by the tilt of smile, I’m real.