I am a deliciously fed woman.
Spitting out any taste or flavour
of a calm cool girl exterior.
Feral and untamed,
lipstick slightly smudged from living.
Plugging into God’s hotline of provision
like it’s the most natural thing in the world
to ask for more.
The deliciously fed woman
doesn’t deny her hunger
for life
for wealth
for money
for the thick sweetness of being alive.
She does not pretend
she only wants a bite.
She wants the whole table.
The devilishly fed woman
knows she’s beautiful.
She doesn’t shrink inside a compliment
like it’s something dangerous to hold.
She lets it land
on her collarbones
like warm honey.
She orders what she wants off the menu
not counting her macros
not apologizing for her appetite
not pretending she’s already full.
She eats slowly.
Luxuriously.
Like pleasure was always meant
to belong to her.
She knows starvation
was never holiness.
She knows deprivation
was never devotion.
The deliciously fed woman
lets life feed her
until her body hums
with a fullness that looks suspiciously
like power.
She laughs with her mouth open.
She says yes when desire knocks.
She says no when something tastes
like less than she deserves.
And when the world asks her
to be smaller
quieter
less hungry
she wipes the honey from her lips
and orders dessert.
Because a deliciously fed woman
doesn’t come to life
to nibble.
She comes here
to feast. 🍯
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