Mommy Arms

Drop-dead gorgeous, statuesque, raw pulchritude in motion,

So beautiful in everybody’s eyes,

Island goddess, country angel, an objectified exotic,

With her value measured by her earth disguise;

Sparks ignite, her belly grows, she expands into a pumpkin,

Now so plump and round and waddling like a duck,

The day arrives, her racer drives, to mid-summer night’s delivery,

Baby magic, safely fallen, such the luck;

And then, because her body isn’t pregnant anymore,

There’s pressure to return to wonder doll,

As if the softness in her belly, thighs, hips, cheeks, and derriere,

Is not enough to please them, after all;

Well screw those crazy standards that drop her value to a look,

A look that matches models in a book,

And revel in her beauty, see the wonder they mistook,

See the wonder they mistook for just a look;

Her shape was fashioned perfectly, by little hands and little feet,

By baby butts and cheeks and belly fat,

And as the baby grew, so did her arms, to hold and carry,

No more beautiful could arms become than that;