Sometimes Hips Lie Her mother used to say she had childbearing hips. It was supposed to be endearing, But the words clung to lips and stung in the pit of her stomach, Which she inherited. Her reaction was not merited, But in an all-girls school where cruel iterations of the same remarks would fester, She ravaged her body to release the pressure. She would show them that this frame was more than a vehicle for reproduction, That her hips did not exist for mere seduction and construction of a family life: A good wife. She would show them that she could bare things other than a child. Things like skipping meals While her mother made desperate appeals to a barren psychology: "To starve oneself is to gamble with the wealth of motherhood." She should have known that pelvic bones are not meant to protrude. She should have feared this collective hunger: Solitude. Now, they don’t talk about hips or biology. But to whom does she owe the apology? To the endocrinologists whose time they wasted as they copy-and-pasted their advice (“just eat more donuts”) year on year. To the science teachers whose instruction fell on deaf ears. To the friends and family whose lives she robbed of bouncing babies. To a partner whose inheritance will hang on ifs and maybes. To society whose loss or gain her ovaries preclude. Or to herself, for gambling with the wealth of motherhood. Bio: Frankie is a nutritionist, journalist and spoken word artist based in Scotland. Her work explores public health, practical wisdom, and the curation of identity. She wrote her first rap, "Fair Play", at the age of 8, and has retained a passion for social justice ever since.
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