Thighs Say // Desiree Dallagiacomo

My thighs say thunderous.
My thighs say too fat for skinny jeans.
Say wide, say open, say cellulite, say bad tattoos. My thighs say stretch marks, say pockmarks, say ingrown hair.
My thighs feel upset that you only offered me one bite of your Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.
My thighs say “MORE… please.”
More room, more beats dropped, my thighs can dance allllll night.
My thighs want your thighs to work a little bit harder.
My thighs may or may not be attracted to some of the people in this room right now.
My thighs say what the hell is a thigh gap?
MY thighs are always the elephant in the dressing room. MY thighs, hate Urban Outfitters, hate Banana Republic, hate American Apparel, love the one pair of jeans we wear four times a week because they’re the only ones that fit us right.
My thighs hope your thighs have a great day.
My thighs want you to stop calling this body soft fruit. MY thighs say “FEMINISM”
My thighs say we have always been the tattletale of the androgynous, cannot pull the feminine out of us. My thighs make a mockery of shorts, stay spilling over at the seam.
My thighs say “we don’t want your praise, man on the street corner. Man in the parking garage. Man in Walgreens while we’re buying tampons. “
My thighs say we are every man’s fantasy even when we beg not to be. When we close like locked jaw. When we ask nicely. When we beg him to stop. When we never asked for your eyes, or your hands, or your mouth.
My thighs know bruise, know beckon, they know quake, crave.
MY thighs have been shame, fear, still are most days.
My thighs know when to tighten, when to stop, all the space taking up.
My thighs know empty, all we do is doorway for for this body’s ability to woman, we have always been this, access of this balancing act of woman. Do we make you uncomfortable? Is this too much praise, gospel of this body?
We don’t know small, our everything is too big, monstrous, sturdy, we stay the stilts that carry this woman body, armor, the pillars for this heart, this everything woman.
My thighs say you don’t know shit about envelope. Coil through the quiver, pull the love into you, like we do.
My thighs say LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON. We spent a lifetime hiding, shaking out of this shame, we are the ruthless twins, the too strong to not run towards everything light.
My thighs say don’t tell us shit about what we say about this body, this heavy body, it is light. It is light, it is ours, we, gatekeepers, welcome commitee, my thighs say come into this when we say, this is ours. All of this ours.