My women. Because of them I am. Alabama bred, Cleveland sojourned. I know they watch over me and I've felt them through the mouths of their children but I watched them, immortalized in a photo, inside a frame, sitting upon my Auntie's living room table. There they stood, sat, smiled, smirked, straight ahead. Skinny, thin, thick. However, they all had full bellies and finally I recognized myself. 

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My whole life I've had a full body. Never fat, just thick all over. Solid. As my weight has fluctuated throughout the years, one thing that never leaves me is my belly. A belly that I've grown to love and accept as gift. I come from full women. With full arms, full lips that curve into full smiles. With full cloud like curls. With full eyes that hold a child-like wonder. The type of eyes on the type of woman you spill your life's story to. With full buttery, caramel skin. 

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I am a full woman. Not just thick in body, but in mind. My grandmother taught me to dream. My mother gave me life and books to read. Deep in the grooves of my mind lay philosophies of the deep horizon. My mind is a body of ocean. A bridge between this world and the next. A temple that I tend to. 

 

I grant you access.