my worth cannot be measured in poundsinchesorounces
& all that i am is neither reflected, nor summed up by a number sewn into
a pair of jeans--
hi, my name is Ashley, real swell person. future midwife, Scorpio, size 14.

Days in dressing rooms under poor lighting
when those size 14s feel a little too tight make my day into a battle
& if my being makes men cringe
then I will stuff my face in rebellion
if my body is under social seige, i welcome it with a smile
Because battalions of words cannot compare to the cannon
fire of insecurity
and trigger pulling i've had in my head for 14 years
we fat girls are really good at these sort of days because
we're good at insulting ourselves first.

i wish with all my heart that

you will never know the word
                                                    fat

that you will never know the sting of insecurity like sunburn on your skin
that you will never feel the need to be anymore than you already
are
because you will be as brilliant as all of the constellations spun into one

i
wish with all my heart that
you will never meet the same boys your mother did

that you will never feel the hot-sloshing cocktail of heartbreak, guilt, and *****
in your stomach.
that
you will never know the stain of a broken society
or the fear of a failing planet

that you will never feel the same bitter hate that your mother does
and that instead of fire you will breathe
peace, but your words will scorch those who dare hurt you
because your mother is too full of fire for you to be completely free of it.

i am a woman made
of countless triggers never warned
(i don’t need a ******* trigger warning, I pull them every day)
of unnoticed scars
(i heal too fast and am too clever at hiding them)
and uncounted skipped meals
(because i’m too good at lying and too fat to have a eating disorder)

of empty pill bottles and whiskey bottles and ****** wrappers and inboxes
of unspoken dependence
and too much *****
(because i used to like to drink too much so that i could flirt with death
& if I survived I could feel thinner in the morning)

but all that is changing in the morning

but right now it feels good to feel drunk

and that’s okay

because I’d rather feel drunk and alone under flannel sheets

than ever
              you lot again

as Women we are told that our
hunger cannot
exist
               unless it pleases men
that the expanses of our bellies
are shameful.
as if my stomach -- as full as the moon and as flat as the prairie
is not beautiful in its
ripe glory
as if my thighs-- made of thunder clouds
are not magnificent
as if my body-- striped with pink-white scars
is not worthy of worship

as Women we are told
that we should feel guilty for every bit of nourishment
that passes through our lips
but that we should be expected
to nourish the world.

but I say ****
diets
****
starving
and fasting
andbingingandpuringandworshiping
skeletal goddesses
that do not exist
(because even the most beautiful woman isn't lovely enough for a magazine)
and stop "going on a cleanse"
because we all know that cyanne and water and maple syrup tastes like ****
Instead
Praise Your Abundance.
run your hands over
dimpled
               soft
scared
            taught
rough
           smooth
full
       flat
bulging
skin & know
that
You Are Beautiful
&you;; bones do not define you.

i value myself in rib bones
and my beauty in the weight
of feathers
& in the morning i'll feel a little
thinner a little prettier a little more
o
kay
i weigh my strength in calories
{thefewerthebetter}
like the scale of Ma'at
if my stomach is emptier than water
then
ican go to heaven

we tint our lips the bleeding red of broken hearts
rouge our cheeks &
scar ourselves with the burnt-black ashes of animal bones
we paint each-others faces with the war-paint of our generation--
adorn our hair with feathers
our hearts with chain metal
and our girlish dreams and expectations with
armor and the arms of one another
because when we wake
the war drums of this night {and our hearts} will be silenced
like the quiet of a strangers house
when the ashes of brilliant fireworks
have settled on tiled roofs
the moans of our prey will be still--
we will wake and creep from their sides
and find each-other  in the sleeping battle field
strewn with our enemies
& walk
hand in hand away from the soulless slumbering masses
your lips drip blood of broken promises from the undeserving, of hearts devoured
and mine are singed and cut from the flames a hundred sips of firewater, heated words shouted and glasses thrown
we will wake and walk away
and be pretty girls in sundresses again

lips open like a
v                   s
    e           u  
          n
fly trap
with fox-face eyes
&
a smiles that
could paralyze
the toughest of men like flies
in a spider's w     e    b
Multi-armed and covered in
                                                  muscle
this goddess hides
her blood red
tongue behind flirtations and butterfly wing
eyelashes
her mating dance and hunting style are on in the
same
"you will fall in love with me, and i will destroy you"
she breathes out like the iron smoke from a dragon's throat as smooth as a lady in* silk*

the souls of a hundred boys form stars and constellations
in the night-sky blanket she wraps herself in
                                                                              when
nights get too
                        c
                         o
                          l
                          d and lonely
a hundred hearts rest in her throat
but she swallows them -- and laughs--
and holds my hand on swingsets

she is a goddess of a different sort--
belly swollen with the compliments and awe of a thousand potential lovers
they should make room for her in the heavens
somewhere between Cetus and Vulpecula
but there is no place for her there
because she has already eaten zeus