I remember the day I realized I was fat.
I was probably ten years old, and a little chunkier than my peers.
I still have that feeling now, over ten years later.
Looking in the mirror everyday, lifting my shirt, looking at my body.
But it's not good enough.
I want to be smaller.

I used to not eat hardly at all.
Just enough to make my mom feel like I was.
Then, I barely ate because I wasn't hungry, and I was too busy.

Now, at my skinniest as an adult, I still don't feel good enough.
Sometimes I think about what I'd look like if I lost twenty pounds.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm okay with how I look, but it never lasts for long.
That hate will creep up with no warning, and then I'm back to pointing out my fat spots.
I just want to feel beautiful.