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IncarnadinePoems
I have been here on this road before— in the scorching heat of the village, the ground too hard, the air too heavy to breathe properly. I don’t remember if it was summer vacations or just long holidays. Either way, I could never make a score. I was not good at sports. My feet never moved fast enough. My body always felt wrong— too slow, too heavy, not built for running. I would stumble and fall, knees scraping against dust and stone, and if that was not all, they would gather around me. Watching. Waiting. I told them not to laugh. I said it like it would change something. But I was still that little girl whose chest tightened before every race, who already knew how it would end. I would look at my cousin— younger than me, but faster, steadier. She tried to help me sometimes, but she couldn’t stop anything. And I hated her for that. Now I think— she was just a child too. And she could run. They were not the cruelest, though. There was that senior girl— who looked at me carefully, like I was something to be explained, and called it body positivity.
0
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
Body positivity
I have been here on this road before— in the scorching heat of the village, the ground too hard, the air too heavy to breathe properly. I don’t remember if it was summer vacations or just long holidays. Either way, I could never make a score. I was not good at sports. My feet never moved fast enough. My body always felt wrong— too slow, too heavy, not built for running. I would stumble and fall, knees scraping against dust and stone, and if that was not all, they would gather around me. Watching. Waiting. I told them not to laugh. I said it like it would change something. But I was still that little girl whose chest tightened before every race, who already knew how it would end. I would look at my cousin— younger than me, but faster, steadier. She tried to help me sometimes, but she couldn’t stop anything. And I hated her for that. Now I think— she was just a child too. And she could run. They were not the cruelest, though. There was that senior girl— who looked at me carefully, like I was something to be explained, and called it body positivity.
It might not be the best poem and that might be because I just let all those memories turn into a poem
Written by
Incarnadine
16
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
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