The menopause stomach
by Ems
My belly has become a moon
that nobody asked to hang
in the sky of my jeans
a soft rebellion
beneath the waistband
a little domestic uprising
of fat and fury
I feed it less
it grows more
as if my body has joined
a union
and voted against me
once there was a waist
a suggestion of a shape
now there is this
warm, stubborn planet
orbiting my knickers
the mirror smirks
my hormones have left the building
without forwarding an address
and somewhere inside
oestrogen lies dying
while cortisol dances
on the grave
I suck it in
hold my breath
pretend
then exhale
and there she is
my menopause tummy
soft as bread
defiant as a bomb
I button my jeans
or try to
and think
if this is what survival looks like
then let the whole bloody world
learn to make room.
Add in I was looking forward to having a burger with no thought apart from I am older and can enjoy it
The Menopause Tummy
My belly has become a moon
that nobody asked to hang
in the sky of my jeans
a soft rebellion
beneath the waistband
a little domestic uprising
of fat and fury
I was looking forward to a burger
just a burger
grease on my fingers
cheese melting at the edges
and not one bloody thought
about what it might do to me
I thought I was older now
that I had earned this
the quiet freedom
of eating without calculation
of biting into something beautiful
without turning pleasure
into punishment
I thought age might bring me peace
instead my hormones have staged a coup
and my stomach is the evidence
I feed it less
it grows more
as if my body has joined
a union
and voted against me
once there was a waist
a suggestion of a shape
now there is this
warm stubborn planet
orbiting my knickers
the mirror smirks
oestrogen has left the building
without forwarding an address
and cortisol dances
on the grave
I suck it in
hold my breath
pretend
then exhale
and there she is
my menopause tummy
soft as bread
defiant as a bomb
I button my jeans
or try to
and wonder when
a bloody burger
became a negotiation
with the woman in the mirror
I am older now
I wanted to enjoy it
to eat the damn burger
and taste nothing
but the burger
not guilt
not numbers
not the old familiar arithmetic
of being a woman
inside a body
just hunger
just pleasure
just me
and if this belly
is the price of surviving
all those years
of trying to be smaller
then perhaps
it can stay
I'll eat my burger
while the whole bloody world
learns to make room.
Add in but now all women are taking a pill and even beinf older is shrinking
The Menopause Tummy
My belly has become a moon
that nobody asked to hang
in the sky of my jeans
a soft rebellion
beneath the waistband
a little domestic uprising
of fat and fury
I was looking forward to a burger
just a burger
grease on my fingers
cheese melting at the edges
and not one bloody thought
about what it might do to me
I thought I was older now
that I had earned this
the quiet freedom
of eating without calculation
of biting into something beautiful
without turning pleasure
into punishment
I thought age might bring me peace
instead my hormones staged a coup
and my stomach is the evidence
I feed it less
it grows more
as if my body has joined a union
and voted against me
once there was a waist
a suggestion of a shape
now there is this
warm stubborn planet
orbiting my knickers
and everywhere I look
women are swallowing pills
promises in little plastic bottles
a smaller body
a quieter appetite
a chance to disappear
without anyone calling it grief
even getting older
has become another thing
we must shrink ourselves through
as though the years
have not already taken enough
as though we cannot grow old
without apologising
for the space we occupy
the mirror smirks
oestrogen has left the building
without forwarding an address
and cortisol dances
on the grave
I suck it in
hold my breath
pretend
then exhale
and there she is
my menopause tummy
soft as bread
defiant as a bomb
I button my jeans
or try to
and wonder when
a bloody burger
became a negotiation
with the woman in the mirror
I am older now
I wanted to enjoy it
to eat the damn burger
and taste nothing
but the burger
not guilt
not numbers
not the old familiar arithmetic
of being a woman
inside a body
just hunger
just pleasure
just me
but apparently
even at this age
we are still being sold
the idea that less of us
would be better
and I am so tired
of making myself smaller
I'll eat my burger
let my belly rise
like the moon it is
and let the whole bloody world
learn to make room.
Published on the Writory Wall.