Our bodies were celebrities, before we knew fame
Privacy was a luxury, stolen from our innocence,
Our curves measured, scrutinised by envy,
Scales became friends without the empathy,
Put under a microscope, our bodies criticised for growing,
A black girls body, becomes front page news -
The buzzword they religiously used, ‘fast’ as if it were choice
Shamed for being curvy, yet paying for our shape to be replicated,
They instil hate, to make us shrink -
Just for them to showcase the bodies they claim to ‘hate’
Stealing credit, and robbing the spotlight
The aim of their game, was to install shame -
To feel better, for not being naturally shaped
Paper reviews and media highlights,
No protection, just unwanted exposure,
Contracts signed without our permission,
To showcase our bodies, like we are caged animals
Turned into a circus, to point and laugh at,
To hide the fact, that they wish they were black,
Their skin green, with the envy of our blackness -
Projecting hate in disguise of jealousy,
Trapped in a state of constant sadness,
For not living up to an image they worked hard to perfect
Our bodies, were just caught in the crossfires of their anger
Standing tall in my red pumps,
With my poise & assure, I hear my chest thump.
My curves & colors burst to rife,
The vigour & mischief which color my life
ocean waves drift in
wildflowers bend in soft winds—
with gentle curves
soothing calm natural minds
without demands or burdens
curves of rivers' arcs
fractals etched in snowflake veins
caress weary eyes
while urban straight lines shatter—
reflection splinters apart
concrete towers thrust
the geometry of squares
clawing at the sky
every sharp angle pierces—
minds that shrink from the hardness
billboards blast their glare
sirens rip through noisy streets
ravaging the ear
urban harshness stunts the soul—
as chaos frays attention
forest silence hums
its calming hymn without words
restoring the peace
of treasure trove memories
stored away in its clearings
dawn's blush dusk's ember
are halos in sky above—
colorful milieus
that frames the day in colors
soft cuddly and welcoming
An easy type of quilting
Is to sew two fabric squares
Which are pinned and lined up neatly;
Nothing else, for ease, compares.
Once you make the shapes more complex,
Like a triangle or curve,
Things might get a little tricky
And you need a bit more nerve.
I’ve been sewing several years now
And still have a way to go,
For when stitching points or circles,
There’s a lot you have to know.
Curves have always proved a challenge
And frustration is no fun.
Every time I had to sew some,
I would backtrack to square one.
But I’ve lately had a breakthrough,
Which I hope my brain preserves,
For my latest little project
Has a lot of sneaky curves.
Yet I’m tackling them slowly
And they’re falling into place.
Something clicked - you know that feeling?
And a smile is on my face.
Now my project, when I finish,
Will be far from error-free,
But if you check out my curves, I think
That you’d be proud of me.
Midnight rides—his pulse aligns with the thunder beneath him
fingers tracing her curves polishing fire into steel.
Wind against his skin she sings beneath him once more
Saturday mornings spent bathing her shine in devotion
One last glance—wait for me—before stepping inside
his grip firm not on the world but the rhythm of her frame.
The highway fades yet she alone knows the way home
rain or shine she waits unwavering at his door
Twilight drapes them in gold two shadows stretching as one
beautiful chrome heart racing—her name dissolving into the wind.
The ocean
caresses her hips.
The sea loves her shape,
her curves are its curves.
Sipping a cold coke
watching a gang
of ogling young men.
A flowing tide
slips from her brown skin
almost reluctantly.
The boys are waving,
the sea is waving,
inwardly,
interestingly,
(at my age),
I am surfing a high crest,
and easily riding above
her incoming hips.
Written By: D. Collins 12/25/24
There's nothing like the curves and crevices of all women.
That distinct little thing that does something to men.
They get all pumped up, and don't know how to act.
Plotting in their mind just how to get at that.
Focused like a laser with a night vision beam.
Targeting in on what should resolve everything.
Some beautiful curves with spankable cushion.
Will get what she deserves for us to go all in.
Although written Christmas day this is not for the meek.
A brother like me needs a real Christmas freak.
All I want from Santa is to handle my wish.
Put in front of me someone Phat, Lucious, and Thick.
My arms over my chest
Where you want yours to be
My back bent over my body
To have the layers fall over my chest and my stomach
My collars held closely at my neck
The rolling of my curves hidden always
Sleeves held down over the arms that hold marks of shame
Upon shame I hide my body
Upon your eyes I hide from
The ones that don't see mine
The ones that don't mention the smile I muster at eye contact
The eyes that follow my chest
My curves
Your eyes aren't a problem when I can nearly hear the thought in your head
The images
The ideas
The emotion.
Curves valleys mounds and folds
A sweeping landscape we choose to travel
And enjoy to linger for a time
Whenever we can
To us and our companion
To the High peak of satisfaction
And release mounting tension
In the pleasant valley below
A much-needed vacation
Then it's back to work
Again.
Life's lessons on what to do and what not to do in life
Slight bumps in the road to make us stop and double check our work and make us learn from it
Love expresses
~on faces by~
traces of smiles.
path of obstacles
challenge of finding answers
learning as we go
We observe the water
caressing her hips.
The sea loves her shape,
her curves are its curves.
On the beach
all who see her waving
watch and wish.
A pilgrimage should not take a direct path,
a traveler should wander seeking to be even lost
following new tacks
to unexpected destinations.
if you know where you are going
the sacredness of your journey
will be at best just a ritual.
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