The Fat Poem

Let me tell you how this journey goes, it starts with broken memories and ends with a possible redemption.

I was going the other way and when I saw you I stopped,

made a detour and came back.

Because the reflection looking back at me in the mirror was too familiar to miss.

It was looking back at me with such vengeful eyes,

The pain in them crippling her capacity to love.

A once peaceful soul was set on fire and a broken heart was left to drown in an ocean of overgrowth.

And so I tightened my hand around the neck of the bottle and I laughed in irony.

I laughed at the silly girl in front of me and her silly delusional thoughts.

I laughed because she thought she could be anything more than the overweight sister of so and so,

More than the fat daughter of Mr and Mrs,

I laughed because the 10 year old girl didn’t understand what they meant by “ Well at least she’s pretty, “

I laughed because I finally realized that baby fat wasn’t going anywhere, because it was just

Fat.

I left because I thought that it didn’t matter anyway.

Nothing was going to change anyway.

And I remember thinking there’s no point.

No point in trying again.

No point in becoming something I’m not.

Because fat people equal fat jokes.

And fat people are what they eat.

In seventh grade a boy wouldn’t go out with me because I was too big.

But you were there and you were too.

And when you asked that thirteen year old girl how she found clothes that fit her,

She didn’t take offense over it.

Instead she smiled and answered you almost too quickly, because she thought you were just asking.

She didn’t know that you saw her as the overweight girl from Mr so and so’s class.

That when she stood in front of you in line, you saw her fat ass first

and that her wide hips annoyed you so much,

that you had to make a joke out of them in front of your friends.

Because you just wanted to make them laugh.

And naively so, she didn’t realize that until you made it loud and clear that,

accordingly to you, she was too fat for your taste.

That she should dedicate herself to lowering that stupid number on the scale,

To become the kind of silhouette people would fall in love with,

To look healthier

Or else

No one would love her, no one would want to be with her.

That she’d never find a husband or wear whatever she wants.

Eat whatever she likes whenever she wants to.

Because then people would make fun of her weight, right ?

And when going out with her girlfriends she should whisk herself in all black so that she would look less fat than fat,

and stand next to fatter people so she would look skinnier.

And the thing is when you decided to play God,

That little girl believed you.

And I shouldn’t have.

Because baby fat didn’t go anywhere, it is still attached to my body.

Then came a time where you told me that I was young and beautiful and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of who I am and of what I look like.

You were relentless,

You told me that I should love my body the way it is because it’s all I got.

And I told me that my body represented cellulite, stretch marks and ugly rolls.

It was around the time when I realized that the world had so many types of rolls.

But mine were no cheese or cinnamon rolls. They were special ones.

The type that meant liability and the type that deserved to be hidden and not so easily tucked away for the sake of looking more average than good.

Because my type of rolls were a fifty percent overgrowth and fifty percent punch lines.

When all I could see is the width of my hips and the thickness of thighs, you said that I should grow a back bone and that I should stop moping around and get some work done.

Cause it was just some weight, right?

It will go away as smoothly as the water she drinks on an empty stomach every morning.

That I was made out of flesh and veins and skin and scars.

That I was made out of hair and out of hands and legs..

And chopped nails and curves and muscles.

That I was made out of excuses.

I pointed out a bird one day,

And you told me that it was created to fly meanwhile I was born to be loved

What I didn’t tell you is that pain made me forget what I was created for.

Because the overweight sister of so and so and the fat daughter of Mr and Mrs,

She didn’t hate herself, she hated the world.

Because when you decided to play God,

That little girl believed you.

:)

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.