Sexy Things 

I’ve adorned myself
With thousands of pearls

And countless yards of lace

I’ve squeezed and stuffed my flesh

And painted all over my face 

Sometimes I feel different 

But mostly I feel the same

Occasionally a fleeting glance

But really what’s keeping me company

is a whole lot of discomfort 

And even a little pain

Sexy “things” may be great

But only tangible for a few 

I’ve come to realize to rely on myself

Since I have no interest in becoming a B cup, achieving thigh gaps, or becoming a size 2 

I think the real “secret”

Is that sexy “things” don’t exist 

But sexy people do

It lies in confidence

And loving yourself 

more than a tight dress

or tiny underwear could ever do 


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