She

She is an abyss of stretch marked skin. 

She is a caramel sea littered with dents and imperfections. 

She is curves that don’t hide, 

And flesh that doesn’t apologize. 

She is strong black woman, 

Though her shoulders may hunch over in fatigue. 

She is chin up, smile forward,

But a fragile flower, gripping the soil amidst the hurricane called life. 

She is a lopsided ball of sugar. 

She is gapped teeth and shrinkage. 

She is coconut oil and raised fists. 

She is r&b and snapped jeans. 

She speaks 5 miles a minute. 

She is a realist- whatever that means, 

But

Pink and yellow clouds fill her head. 

Dark whispers plague her consciousness but she is upright. 

She is love overgrown. 

All 61 inches reaching for the sun, 

Limbs basking in the moonlight

She is a vessel waiting for change.