She always dreamt
Of being something big
Poised, elegant, and
The type who evokes a nostalgic
from the lense of perpetuation.
And she wanted
When curves flirt with lines
and embrace smugly the bones that contain
To gawk around, like an interpretation
Like a simulation of her
Clear and utter indifferences
of the alike.
But these flashes help her remember:
Emaciating the poignant curves
that once told her who she was.
And conceived in the shadows of
those who maul her
strip her down to size,
and replace her disposition with
But this is what she wanted;
That little black
that finally told her
who she was
and who she could
This is what she wanted:
stiletto heels and the essence of chic.
Her ankles were always stronger than her intuition:
Aren't her bones couture?