One Hell of a Woman

I am one hell of a woman,
made of the fires that threatened to consume me.
My curves are round and full,
like a well-aged wine,
brimming with the flavors that lie beneath the surface,
that entrance you if you let them linger on your tongue.
My hair shows silver
for every time I was brave, or strong, or stood up for my healing.
My hips are wide,
meant for carrying babies,
meant to be handles,
meant to steady me when my heart is weak.
I am the roundness of my stomach,
not afraid to take up space,
not afraid to dance a little.
I am my lack of a thigh gap,
proud to touch myself and find joy.
I am one hell of a woman
with…