A Poem About How Women Should Stop Dieting

I wrote on Facebook the other day, asking – rhetorically, of course – why being happy always seemed to lead to me gaining weight. I joked that I wanted to find some way to lie to my body that I was miserable. Ha ha.

Later, though, I thought about what I’d said. What’s wrong with me, that being happy is kind of a bad thing simply because I’ve gained five pounds. No one even knows that but me. And, certainly, no one cares. What is this internal tyranny over women that suckers even a (I like to think) conscious woman into putting body size and general happiness on equal planes. Would I really rather be sad and skinny than happy and fat? Isn’t that sick?

Coincidentally (or, as I view it, serendipitously) I watched a YouTube video on the health benefits of eating one meal a day. Many Muslims also advise one meal a day. Many Buddhist monks recommend one meal a day. Trying this for a while could be a way to not only lose the “happy pounds” and further improve my health, but, more importantly, to spend less time preparing food and washing dishes. There are other things I’d rather be doing. The weight itself no longer matters to me. There are too many critical issues going on in our society for anybody – especially any intelligent being – to be wasting time worrying about five or ten pounds.

The Divine Feminine is needed now more than ever. With the separation and categorization of people into little groups to oppress and demonize. With our health care system at the hands of a Twitter-junkie who cares for no one but himself. With our planet heating up, and our water supply drying up. We need Woke Women everywhere to be about it.

This poem is primarily a reminder to myself. It is also an invitation to other people – especially all who identify with the Feminine Spirit – to use your talents, your voices, your bodies, your minds, and your spirits to uplift the planet.

So, here it is…

Die It

They asked her

which she’d rather have,

sexy steamy night

with stranger,

or

sweet, easy piece of

dreamy cheesecake.

Surprised

I was not

when, of course,

devilish dessert

earned her body’s lust.

Deprived of carnal passion –

no woman ever,

but fashion,

commercialized, capricious eyes,

and masculine wish for

sole supremacy,

Reduce

sunshine-colored pink topped cupcake

to armed adversary, scary

fat-throwing attacker.

Beauteous baby building digs

Decreased

not by accurate concern for

maternal magic, but

Fear

of feminine largesse.

The best most can expect –

five to ten pounds

Less?

While fleshy souls,

Lost,

scream soundlessly inside

cells bereaved, in need –

not of packaged poison

in food clothing – but

Insurrection, mutiny

This is me!

Head to knee,

ass to feet,

take the scale and weigh

the mass of heart

as I love you

squeeze you

high into sunset sky

build up this ball of blue

till it cools

the winds of ill will

killing it through and through.

Weigh

the song I sing to

little ones wondering

why we won’t willify what we want

when so much to do

goes undone

Wasted

time, dieting to hide

the light this world is pining for,

Eat.

And eat well,

Gas for the next phase

of feminine triumph

Please don’t buy into

Diets,

Goddess, your one-pointed

Presence is Spirit’s imperative Essence.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s