The victory

The tension in my body swells.
It bubbles up
in soufter rotund hips
in added creases around the elbow
in firm hints towards a double chin.
My skin resents me
for these protrusions
and in turn erupts in creamy stripes
new scars without a wound.
The only injury is that of weight
a heaviness my heart resists
by poundting
unrelenting at my ribcage.
How dare I let this happen?
My knees protest with my spine
in sore response.
The complaint is echoed in strain
and ache by every sullen part
but one.
And in its ceaseless gloat
the uterus smiles
and begins to bloat.