I remember when I told you I was fat and

you told me to shut up- that I was beautiful.

I got so so angry and even though you thought it was because I hated the compliments,

I was actually confused why I couldn’t be both.

Because the most beautiful girl I have ever seen

Didn’t weigh a pound under two hundred. But her eyes

told stories richer than Belgium chocolate and

her deepest dimples, may have been those at the bottom of her spine

but her veins contained more love than all the water in the Mariana Trench.

So I’m pretty ******* angry at all the tabloids

that proclaim how to loose the extra fat, or the latest celebrity diet.

And I’m sick of “less is more”

because even though my thighs grow thick and embody the roundness of a peach

I hold more truth than the salt count of the Dead Sea

and my words weave stories that put Persian carpets to shame.

so the next time you want to make love to me

with the lights off

I’ll tell you to just **** me with the lights on. Loose the ignorance

because I will not be bullied into loosing the weight.

Have the courage to find the beauty in my stretch marks

and revel in the softness of my stomach

and I won’t be shamed into saying a smaller pant size

because I sure as hell know

that that **** piece of cake will taste better than skinny feels.