(Poem 114 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

I bought some of that
pheromone perfume to
make my husband love me;
turns out, I don’t need it.
I’m the whole package and
seem to be his cup of tea.
Because my hips are as
wide as the Himalayas and
other assets ample, as well,
I need reminders that for
some men, an ample shape
can be pleasing as hell.
The culture I was raised in
prized a female form with
less meat on the bones;
that leaves a stain on the
heart that’s hard to shake—
dispatched to friend zones.
So, I’ll probably keep buying
the latest aphrodisiacs and
pretty things on TikTok shop,
even though my husband
thinks I’m beautiful and feels
no need to window shop.

@Home Studio – 114^th poem of the year

Runner ups for the full-figured white girl photos to accompany my poem: