Monday, April 17, 2017

BODY POSITIVITY POEM FOR MOTHER EARTH

In the
all-hell,
busted wreck
of spring, she's such

a mess,
she's
such tough art,

she's like—
is this 
the end 

or is this
the start? 

But it's like—to us, the earth
is
some sagging

and bulbous
and fleshy
old lady

being pretty
outrageous,

scantily dressed,
all in our faces

and out-there
in public
in a way we don't like;

a little too real,
a little

raw for our taste,
a little

too confident
and honest
with herself

and everyone else
about

how
beautiful shit

and
actual,
literal shit—

never used
to be
separate.

We don't want to hear it,
but

right about now,
she must be thinking:

fuck it, if I cannot
get rid
of this privilege,

if I cannot give
all of this
away—then

I may
as well
use it.

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