Why do girls lie to themselves and tell themselves,
I'm a six
when they're really an eight?
Why do we inaccurately portray ourselves
and seek to obtain these impossible standards
and gaze at our thighs for hours wondering
why did I ever let this happen to me
or noone will ever love me if I look like this
we'll hunch over our stomach rolls and wish
we could slice them off with a blade and they'd heal back flat, all the fat gone;
we'll wonder how anyone could find us pretty
and we'll doubt if they do
because the only boys who have ever been nice to us
are either playing a cruel joke
or are our fathers.
But here's some news: who you are is not defined by your poundage or the amount of lipids stored under your chin,
when you sit down, how far your thighs push out;
or even that terrible bit of fat under your arms
when you wave bye to your gorgeously thin friends.
Who you are is not merely 'pretty'
or 'skinny'
and I desperately don't want you judging yourself
on what some boy's favorite part of your body is
or what passerby think of your ***-
your body is more than skin deep,
your body is more than fat,
you have muscles and organs and things too,
there are more important things, like how
strong your heart is or how many gasps your lungs have had-
those things make you a valuable, important human being
because fat- well- that's not what makes you who you are.
And that's not what I love you for, because darling,
my favorite part of your body is your mind.