Almost Thirty

They prance around, bare bellies flashing, elegantly poised on shoes so high that I cannot imagine wearing them.
They flash confident smiles and carelessly toss their hair; carefree sylphs in blue jeans and tank tops.
But I know the fears that gnaw their souls at night.

I believe in fair trade, something for something.
And I exchanged, ounce by ounce, my body, my flashing belly, for a bit of wisdom, a bit of knowledge,
And the power to stop the fear from claiming my soul.

If they only knew the way to stop the fears, would they, too, trade their bodies to keep their souls?
Or would they go on, in their high, high shoes, pretending perfection?

I miss my body.
The one that I pranced around in, bare belly flashing.
But I am glad to have my soul.