I use you for sitting.

Men have a lot to say about that.

Sit down and shut up!

Why don't you get up off your fat ass?

It’s always a struggle, figuring out

what a man really wants from you.

“A heart-shaped ass is best,” he told me.

My love handles sort of make mine an

Upside-down obtuse triangle.

I wish more than anything that the sharp

Errors of my angles could be rounded

Into something attractive. But at least I can sit,

Alone, and ponder the power of my posterior.

My ass turns all kinds of heads.

Even women, who preach positivity,

Positively whisper when I walk by.

My breasts, which also sag in unnatural ways,

Look perfectly perky in a proper bra.

My ass allows me to sit, thinking about the wild, wired

Contraption that could do the same for my derrière.

My brain may conjure up ideas about other people,

But my ass is the catalyst, the cause, the chimera

That I fight every day, even from the chair.