Give me snakes, heights, tight spaces, them all.
But please don’t give me fitting room feels with shorts two sizes too small.
As I enter the store I head straight to the back,
Where faded denim is piled high in a stack.
I grab 2, maybe 3 pairs at most,
Hoping the fitting room might be somewhere close.
I take a big gulp cause I already know,
What’s about to go down in this jail cell aligned in a row.
I pull one leg through-hoping that this denim don’t stick,
I wiggle and squirm as I tug on the fabric.
I pull up the other leg and begin to sigh,
Cause home girl got hips that’s why.
Here comes the hard part where strength comes into play,
I squeeze all my guts, butts galore in while I pray.
I’m at the home stretch as I stare at my button,
Trying to bring everything together as I suck in.
Success was finally made after sweat and pain,
But as I look in the mirror the feeling is always the same.
I look at the skin busting out at the seams,
My self-confidence shifts and so do my dreams.
I wish to be skinny, pretty, and thin,
Cause it seems that at life those truly win.
As I shove off the shorts and watch them crumple up on the floor,
I’m reminded that my worth is so much more.
I am beauty, intelligence, and wit,
The size of my jeans doesn’t change that a bit.
The fitting room feels don’t dare over power me,
Cause I know my truth and that sets me free.
I walk out with my head held high,
Cause no size nor number should ever make me cry.
I am a woman whose body is a treasure,
Clothes companies don’t get that that’s hard to measure.
So love your bodies every inch and curve,
Please know your worth and what you deserve.
