Flexing

I could have bent over backwards to satisfy you,
to be the person you wanted:
femininely groomed and shaved silky smooth,
skin polished and buffed to golden tones,
dress size – always hungry,
lips overtly red and slightly parted.
I could have tailored my body into curves and swells
to please your eyes, to fit your exacting hands.
I imagine standing here, my eyes wide with kohl
and my pout ready to go, posed for your gaze, side on,
left leg a little forward, perhaps leaning slightly back,
my left arm elongated down my side, chin down.
And I laugh because here I am instead, leaning back
against the world with someone on a different track.
Someone who is comfortable with me,
with me, with me bending, with me flexing.