As a woman, I’ve always realised the pressure to look good (read thin). I recently went out on a dinner night with some girl friends and for about 25 minutes, the conversation was about how much weight they need to lose, how fat they feel yada yada. What was most surprising was that almost everyone in the group were already thin. And it dawned upon me how much granted we take our wonderful bodies, how abusive is our relationship with it to only think of it in a negative way. I am far from being thin, I am curvy and damn proud of my curves and yet I have never felt the need to hold my body in ransom, I nurture it, love it and celebrate it every single day, but yes even when I write this I feel the pressure to be thin, to be a certain size, to be a certain make because we have such twisted notion of beauty.

Yet, our bodies are such wonderful. It takes care of us, gives us strength. A mere look and I am convinced God put a lot of though when he made us women. And this post is a celebration of our bodies.

Sometimes when it is fully clothed, it makes your imagination run wild.

Sometimes when it is naked, it shows you the path of heaven.

Sometimes it dances in complete abandon; it is a symbol of joy.

Sometimes it pulls you from your despair; it is a symbol of hope.

Sometimes it runs a mile and pushes a ton of load; it is a symbol of endurance.

Sometimes it shrinks like a flower; it is a symbol of vanity.

My body is not mere numbers

But a wonderland.

The gentle curve of my hips

The luscious fullness of my lips

The contours of my neck

The strength of my spine

My body is this wonderland

That makes what I am.

Not mere numbers

That can never define me.

Now, enjoy this poem by Maya Angelou and think proudly of your body, of yourself.

What makes a woman? Is it her charm, her beauty, her innate warmth, her mind or just some number (36-24-36). With these weighty questions in mind, I wrote this poem defining what I feel is being a woman.

Sometimes it is the darkness of my eyes,

or the voluptuousness of my lips,

Sometimes it is my cascading waves

or the gentle curve of my hips.

Sometimes it is what I wear,

or how I walk.

Sometimes it is what I say,

or how I say it.

Some men take these reasons

to keep me tight in their palms,

or batter me with their brutal acts.

Reduce me with their cruel words,

or burn me with their cold indifference.

I can only laugh at them.

Because it is the

steel of my mind

the warmth of my laugh

the tenderness of my heart

the fire of my spirit

the joy of my face

the strength of my character

that makes me a woman.

And nothing you do or say can take that away.