The cargo  of my rib cage is my inner sanctum
My hips are my homeland
I refuse to conform to conventional specification
My body is a garment that fits me perfectly
My throat is a canal, navigating, and nourishing
Bridges that nest across my thighs,  A channel of imperfections that I clutch and attain
The fabric of my ******* is frayed
Although I have nourished and  maneuvered sheepish mouths harboring at bay
Abounding the lifeblood of creation, embarking on this journey  of womanhood