My Body, A Meal

My body, a meal that I offer to others
Many refuse, claiming diet or that they just ate
Some pick at the parts they like
Saying they don't like the others
Or even argue that they don't exist
Others say those parts don't agree with them
This limits what I can serve these people

Lately I've learned to keep some parts to myself
Keep them from the eager forks and knives of my diners
To ringing peals of rage at my selfishness
A rare few want all of me
Good and bad, light and dark, sweet and sour
The intimacy of sharing some part of myself
With another who completely and eagerly receives it
My body is who I am

Women are adventuresome diners
Is that just how they are?
Or are they just not taught to be closed off
From truly experiencing and enjoying
Something new and different
Or just anything they choose?
Women prepare meals of their own
Themselves, served on a platter
Is intimacy easier for them?

O to cook a dish everyone wants to savor
To be unconstrained by dietary restrictions
My body is how I experience the world
And how other people experience me

April is National Poetry Writing Month

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