Lukewarm

Whenever I walk by a dark window front,

I can’t help but peek at my reflection,

Something about my body in motion,

It is a unique glimpse at a world others see of me.

I don’t do it out of vanity,

I do it out of curiosity.

More of a craving glance,

Thinking maybe it will be nice today.

Speaking of my reflection,

As if it is a shaded twin,

Who has its own life and choice.

Her legs are thick from years of games,

Her rib cage is slender,

Her breasts are modest,

Her strut is prominent,

Her colors are muted but contrasting,

And her gait is rhythmic.

My perception of figure,

With many starving around me,

Remained ignorant and unrelated.

As I age though,

I have dipped my toe as well.

I see the slippery cliff,

But the mud is warm and soothes my arches,

There is a small soft decline,

Before it drops to the violent white current.

I am tempted,

But scared.

I should know better.

I want to know better.

I want to be ecstatic,

But I am only lukewarm.

Do I accept or alter?

I am not strong enough to resist the warm earth,

So I mustn’t go near.

I am healthy,

And I wish to stay that way.

I hope society quiets down.

I hear culture changing,

I smell the sun rising,

I taste buoyancy brewing,

And suddenly feel the need to scream.

I assume in joy,

But it’s blurry.

The only thing I can do is choose now,

And revel in every minute,

Suck on every move,

Swallow every pain,

And know that I am me,

For many reasons.

And I need to be me,

As much as I can be. 


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