The New Black Body
For as long as I can remember, my stomach has been partitioned into the north belly and the south belly, divided by the belly-button border. North Belly, aka “N. Beezy,” is the more tyrannical of the two. Depending on her mood, she will ruin any clean-lined look I’m going for. On bad days, N. Beezy sticks her head over the balcony of my waistband, soaking in the good weather, chatting with passersby, waving to onlookers like, “What the hell you looking at? This is my balcony and I can come and go as I damn well please.”
South Belly, aka “S. Beezy,” is shy. Depending on the tightness of what I’m wearing, she can fade away, but her imprint is always there. Most would refer to her as a FUPA. When I sit, she lays her head on the top of my lap. She peeks out the sides of hipster, bikini,
