Dear Women’s Magazines

Please don’t keep asking me to get the perfect body this summer,

I have the perfect body already.

This body – my body- has been with me a long time now,

I’ve grown quite attached to it, thanks.

It amazed me in my early teens, when bits grew and hormones

sent me crazy, in good ways and bad.

It saw me through my wild early twenties,

still functioning, despite my neglect.  It was a good sport like that.

It allowed me a few wild years, before warning me to calm down –

It knows what I need, even if sometimes I don’t.

It allowed me to grow two tiny humans inside it,

both born with their very own perfectly functioning bodies.

Then it let me feed them both for six months apiece,

sustaining me and them – even on two hours sleep.

My body allows me to walk for miles, to ride a bike, to swim,

to practice Sun Salutations and stand on my head.

It enjoys pleasure and its heart knows love.

Now in its fourth decade, it still feels a good fit.

So please, don’t ask me to change it

to fit in with some stereotyped ideal, or the latest fashion.

Don’t preach to me about how a woman over 40 should dress

or wear her hair –

I think I got this by now.

Stop trying to sell me cream to rid me of stretch marks –

they show the miracles my body has performed.

I do not wish to remove them; they show where I’ve been.

Don’t encourage me to follow the latest celebrity diet

to get some dreamed up ideal of a Perfect Beach Body.

I have a perfect beach body.  I have a perfect any place body.

I take it everywhere with me, I wouldn’t be without it.

It’s mine.

 

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