Written by Hannah Tayla
What is it that makes her special? Is it the galaxies within her eyes? Or the worlds held in between her thighs? The landscape of her womb is peopled with possibility. For many hours, her forehead glows and reflects the labour of childbirth; the strength of her womb inserts life into its worldly existence. Stretch marks indicate her growing capacity to love and be loved. Her ardent breasts adorn her undaunted chest. Within the mightiness of her bosom, her enduring love resides.
What is it that makes her great? Is it the swing in her hips and the resilience in her stride? Or the fire from her lips and her refusal to hide?
Her hands are leathery, worn and chapped from all the harsh soaps and endless scrubbing. Within her hands, fury and forbearing are reconciled. Maps are engraved in the roughness of her palms, revealing her many secret journeys. The soles of her feet have been hardened by the days she walked barefoot to school in the rain and clammy heat, and on the longer days when she treaded upon adversity.
What is it that makes her endearing?
Her roaring laughter emanates from the bottomless well of her fearless passion for life and love. Her numerous contours plot the fullness of her life across her arms and thighs and belly and hips. The many kinks in her hair indicate her many invisible crowns. For she is royalty. She is magnificent. She is us and we are her.
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