by Jo Fisher

My tummy may not be quite taut,
my legs may not be lengthy;
My hair is going rather grey,
for someone in their twenties.

The little rolls above my bum
jut out above my jeans;
you can’t quite see my Venus dimples
like you could back in my teens.

My ribcage and my hipbones
are strategically secured
beneath a few soft layers
that appeared as I matured.

My arse is somewhat dimpled
and doesn’t stick right out,
thanks to hours sat down, writing
eating chocolate and takeout.

But, as I pore over pictures
in glossy, rotten pages
and scroll through good old Insta
for, quite frankly, ages,

I grab my fat, I prod my tum,
feel the rubbing of my thighs,
and am proud that what I offer
Does not deceive the eyes.

My age has given me a gift:
accepting who I am.
I’m having more good days than not;
when I don’t give a damn.


Jo Fisher | @jo_fisher_ |  @joannefisher |

Jo is a writer, poet, editor, creator and over-thinker based in Southampton, UK. She writes almost all day, every day, and is dipping her toe into performing poetry at open mics, slams, and spoken word events. Find her on twitter @joannefisher, and read more of her work at

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