My thighs are not pretty

My thighs are what they call thunder

My thighs is like tweed. wrapped in a bundle of sage, with a hibiscuses flower in between.

That give a beautiful scent

but my thighs are not pretty.

But sometimes, I wish I can step outside my thighs, outside this brick housed body.

Into a smaller, confined space. In a more fit frame.

One with a smaller waist, toned arms, and flatter tummy

My thighs play entirely to much. Making me do reps of squats, and lunges.

My thighs be like I don’t know slim. And slim is not about to know me.

My thighs spend hours, dictating how I dress

Cause my thighs don’t like shorts, dresses , or jeans.

She strays away from attention, but my thighs..,, she still need to breath.

I wish I could pack up my thighs

Maybe even put a gap in between them.

Goodness.

If only you knew the things I would trade for my thickness.

I wouldn’t have to threaten my thighs with wraps, diets, or boot camp.

My thighs makes me look like I be lying. Like I haven’t been putting in work at the gym. I spent hours doing muscle training and cardio. But still the fat in my thighs

Be like. You can’t touch this

My thighs have 2 dimples, and she is not photogenic. My thighs have tried to be diverse, but she only dance . I mean giggle in slow motion. My thighs, claps to her own beat, drop, giggle, and shake,

She does ok. But she’s really jealous of my booty meat.

I told my thighs to lose. The least amounted weight on my body. And still she does the fucking opposite.

Therefore.

I envy. The girls that say ( ohhh I’m getting thick) . If only you knew the problems thick thighs came with