I am a cornucopia.

You are calorically challenged, and if you think your tiny legs that you can fold ten times around your body make you some kind of goddess...think again. You use your sanctimonious "thin" talk as though I never thought of walking. And then you think I'm pregnant and say so...oh the gall. I have hips that sway into the night moon and push you out of my way. I am bountiful, rich, and have enough to give away. I have breasts that move into your space, and now it is mine because I will it so, and the goddess wears curves.



Honestly, this poem is a paradox, as I realize how easily my ego is bruised these days. There's a topic to write about...
Also, this is another poem from the easystreet prompts...good stuff those prompts!