"You can't wear that,"
"You're too fat,"
The words echo inside my empty belly,
"You shouldn't have eaten that."

In the back of my throat is a model,
A body type I've aspired to be,
I shove in my hands to grab that model,
Bringing back everything I had for tea.

I look in the mirror,
Presented with teary, bloodshot eyes,
Seeing my aspiration that had gone to ****,
I still don't look like that model,
I'm still just a "fat *****".