The Chubby Girls Live in Summer
by @z-trista-davis
This wasn’t the first time that she had felt suffocated
by skinny girls and standards of beauty.
It got like this every winter,
feeling the heavy layers
weighing her body down.
She never felt comfortable in the sweater and boots,
socks and coats that she bundled up in.
She liked light clothes,
clothes that fairies would wear,
or angels.
Even in summer,
bracelets felt like shackles,
trying to pull her down to earth.
Socks and shoes and pants,
dragging her down.
Coats and hats and mittens,
tethering her in place.
If it was just her
in a sundress and bare feet,
she turned into some sort of ethereal being.
She was like dandelion fuzz floating on the wind.
But the sweaters held her together,
the way that stars and fireworks and splashes of water
should never be bound together
but let explode.
Because some things are only beautiful
if they are coming apart.
And she came apart in wisps
flowing up like smoke
and smelling like lilacs in spring.