i looked at my hands closely,
pinching the skin covering bone and calling it fat.
looking in the mirror for over half an hour after i shower makes me want to disappear in my bed sheets again.
i stared at my open refrigerator only to pour myself a cup of lemon water,
calling my eating habits a "cleanse".
i put my hands up in defense every time my friends tried to feed me and endlessly offer me their food.

i don't want it.
i don't know what my goal is.
i want to feel okay in this skin.

i want my mom to take back every comment.
i want my little sister to think before she speaks when she's angry at me.
i want brendon, my first grade crush, to take back what he said to my face in second grade.
cause you see,
i remember it all.

i remember my mother calling me fat like it was a bad thing when my first grade thighs couldn't fit into my hannah montana jeans.

i remember brendon telling me he liked me until i started to get fat.

i remember every time my little sister has told me i have no friends and that everyone leaves me because i'm fat.