My curves are softness, hard bones against skin,
and lines drawn taut with muscle bound by ligaments tight
under a thin flab I earned from late night beer and dancing;
no amount of sweat and shaking could match those liquid calories,
or the pizza I diluted it with after.
But they’re my curves, stuffed into my bra, crammed
flat by my leggings, and slapped by your hand when I’m wearing a thong.
My daily workout, booty building, toning, and cardio
made my office chair less cumbersome, less damaging,
and the softness I didn’t realize coated me like a thick sweater
is melting off like too watery frosting on a cake.
My curves are more muscles under skin, then bulges from fat.