Fleshiness

Flesh is tricky

never staying in the same shape or place

our bodies are solid

yet fluid in their ability to be interpreted in a myriad of ways.

We wrestle with our flesh,

forcing it into spandex contraptions designed to morph unruly flesh into the image of hourglass perfection,

it eludes captivity. 

Flesh spills gleefully

over the elastic confines of the corset, the shaper, the bra.

  Flesh reminds us

we can’t be anything we want to be. 

Our attempts to perform thinness

model-esque physical perfection as defined by an airbrush fail as our bodies wiggle and jiggle in merry display.

  We wound our bodies

angry and swollen red lines attest to our attempts to confine the flesh. 

Even the devices we inflict upon our body revolt at its captivity-

Runs in panty hose reveal pale flesh not suntan brown, toe reinforcement be damned

Bras slide eagerly up the back

anxious to release heavy breasts from confinement

Shapers roll and move

twisting around the body, stretching as if to encourage fleshy freedom

Both product and body

sending a message that the body we desire is unnatural, unobtainable

For panty hose will run

bras will stretch, shapers will fail

Whether sucked or tucked

the body will reassert itself

Flesh is tricky that way

Beautiful lines of aging

etched into wind worn skin

Whisps of brushed metal silver

weaving a tapestry of wisdom

Bodies moving with abandon

loosed from their commercialized torment

Free.