I was 7 years old,
When I first heard the word "fat" in a whispered conversation.
I cannot forget
The sheer panic of the girl standing next to me,
Eyes widened in fear,
That the comment had been directed at her.
That was when I learned that "fat"
Was not beautiful.
I'm 16 now,
And I've been groomed to believe,
That tiny waists and pronounced collarbones are beautiful.
Food has become an enemy,
And after every bite I can't help but say,
"I'm sorry."
I have been taught since a young age
That all food is an excess,
That everything that passes through my throat
Has no business being there.
How can I learn to shrink
If I indulge in the things
That keep me alive?
I have been taught that
Anything that juts out of my body that isn't bone
Is not beautiful.
I listen to the whispers
And see the raised eyebrows
Directed at the girl
Who dared to place another brownie on her plate,
Head held high.
I never had the courage to praise her
For seeing food where I see numbers.
How could I possibly phrase
The amount of envy I feel
For the girls who can eat without guilt,
Whose food doesn't settle in their stomach
Like a heavy reminder.
For so long,
I've been conditioned to believe"
"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."
But I see the girls
With tired eyes
And stumbling steps,
With stomachs as hollow as they are,
And now I realize,
That is not beautiful.