hannahnah
i posted this a while ago but i've edited it since and changed some stuff around. let me know what you think.
so i battle between self-acceptance
and self-improvement
day after day learning that there is no middle ground
between fat and thin,
beautiful and ugly. harsh words still
ringing in my ears, i am reassured
that i am beautiful, because of and regardless
of my size.
those people don't know what's real,
she says, pressing me against her large breasts
and round stomach. we scare them
because they're not supposed to like us.
so i leave confident and sexy
in my newly affirmed body,
sway my full hips and decide to buy
a skirt to celebrate that swish.
size large, size extra-large... pulling tight
over what was, a moment ago
beauty. now reduced to held back tears,
skirt held out to an impatient clerk
sizing me up with bored eyes and i know
she's thinking, how dare i try.
my life is pulled in too many directions,
from fat to fatter to don't listen to them
and she tells me fat is beautiful
that i shouldn't deny it,
but embrace it, even while her friend sneers
and laughs at my attempts to finally fit.
what would she know? she lifts her bulk
off the couch and presses it toward me.
i step back.
what would she know?
i know because i have been hissed at
from cars, turning toward the whistle
they meant for my friend.
i know because lying in his bed,
dreamy and almost fulfilled, i asked of first impressions.
he sat up, coughing, and admitted
he kind of thought i was fat, though he's quick
to reassure that he likes me fine now.
because at a sixth grade slumber party
she told us to lie in a row.
come on, she said, we're comparing bellies
lie down. but mine went up
instead of laying flat like it was supposed to
so claiming drowziness, i lay in bed awake
and listened to them laugh.
so i sit back in my chair, accepting
the accusation of my place
as an imposter.
my friend lays a hand on her arm
and she backs down, lets it go.
and so, standing outside with a friend
that draws whistles and stares
with her perfectly proportioned hundred and ten
she reads my pins and comments
on the unfairness of the clothing industry.
my skirt shifts above my knee
as my stance widens, my eyes tighten
how would you know?
i cross my arms, threatening.
how would you know?
so i battle between self-acceptance
and self-improvement
day after day learning that there is no middle ground
between fat and thin,
beautiful and ugly. harsh words still
ringing in my ears, i am reassured
that i am beautiful, because of and regardless
of my size.
those people don't know what's real,
she says, pressing me against her large breasts
and round stomach. we scare them
because they're not supposed to like us.
so i leave confident and sexy
in my newly affirmed body,
sway my full hips and decide to buy
a skirt to celebrate that swish.
size large, size extra-large... pulling tight
over what was, a moment ago
beauty. now reduced to held back tears,
skirt held out to an impatient clerk
sizing me up with bored eyes and i know
she's thinking, how dare i try.
my life is pulled in too many directions,
from fat to fatter to don't listen to them
and she tells me fat is beautiful
that i shouldn't deny it,
but embrace it, even while her friend sneers
and laughs at my attempts to finally fit.
what would she know? she lifts her bulk
off the couch and presses it toward me.
i step back.
what would she know?
i know because i have been hissed at
from cars, turning toward the whistle
they meant for my friend.
i know because lying in his bed,
dreamy and almost fulfilled, i asked of first impressions.
he sat up, coughing, and admitted
he kind of thought i was fat, though he's quick
to reassure that he likes me fine now.
because at a sixth grade slumber party
she told us to lie in a row.
come on, she said, we're comparing bellies
lie down. but mine went up
instead of laying flat like it was supposed to
so claiming drowziness, i lay in bed awake
and listened to them laugh.
so i sit back in my chair, accepting
the accusation of my place
as an imposter.
my friend lays a hand on her arm
and she backs down, lets it go.
and so, standing outside with a friend
that draws whistles and stares
with her perfectly proportioned hundred and ten
she reads my pins and comments
on the unfairness of the clothing industry.
my skirt shifts above my knee
as my stance widens, my eyes tighten
how would you know?
i cross my arms, threatening.
how would you know?
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