stop calling me ___

my body is good enough to be a body, not your mental exercise for the day.

i am not a place.

my stomach is not rolling hills, 
my calves aren't ripples on water, 
and, not that you were ever a landscaper to start with, 
i am not something for a landscaper to plant
or seed
or mow

and, not that you were ever a photographer
or a painter
or a writer of any kind,
i am not full of mountainous peaks
or undulating movements like those of earth shifting apart
during a quake
for you to form into your craft

the dimples at the bottom of my back are
patches
of
fat,
not "love handles".

the stretch marks that surround my thighs
are signs that i got too big for my skin
too quickly,
not "free lightning tattoos"

i am not built off of your metaphors

i am not a natural disaster or miracle,
i am not a house
or a broken window
or a sculptor's muse
or whatever else you can come up with
to describe my body
without actually calling it a body.

i am not my body, either,
and yet that's the thing you praise
even though you can't admit to it being human
and not an underappreciated masterpiece.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me of the poem "Barbie Doll"--

others seem to have their ideas of perfect and how to explain away flaws so that those who do have flaws can still be molded in words to what those people want in their significant others.
a perfect way to be perfectly finished in a relationship.

jacob