This pounding is much too harsh. Always aching with the drum of my truth as it slaps me in the face. My fat jiggles in a horrendous fashion, I don't move with grace, but thunder. I blunder, wishing to keep up with your pace. I want the stride of your beautiful. I want to stay youthful, but my metabolism is slacking and I hear the snickers, so I'll keep my eyes glued down. At least I keep score; I see days I don't eat, versus days of defeat, I'm a fat-*** puppy always sniffing for treats. And I get sick of the stale lines telling me I'm beautiful. Because only awfully gorgeous people are the ones to speak, and they tell me to gain more? It's not a chore, I'm not resisting when I secretly want to snack. NO, I just forget for a moment and shove some in like a zombie extra-diseased as fat.
I agree, I'm pathetically weak, but people don't understand that it hurts more to know that my power of will is low than to see this mass of mountainous freak.