His wrists are my favorite part of his body, Bones pressing delicately through pale, unscarred skin in a way mine haven't since the 6th grade. The only bones showing on my body are my elbows and knees, just barely And the worried bones of my insecurities. I wish I could see my shoulder blades and hipbones. I'd never hoped to be a skeleton but I'd hoped to be proud of my appearance. Even though my best friend tells me that I'm pretty just the way I am, I know I'm not as pretty as my sister; We're twins but no one ever believes us She has gorgeous blonde hair and pale skin and sky blue eyes, Hourglass shape. I think she got the looks, but I always hope I got the brains. Today I don't know which is the better end of the deal. I know I am fat. I don't need any doctors or parents or bullies to tell me that My curves are not big-*****, Obesity doesn't run in my family, No one runs in my family, And by no one I mean me. My every outfit is prefaced by compression shorts and slimming colors and self-conscious shame. My stomach has ugly purple stretch marks like tongues of hungry fire Burning away my self-esteem Summer evenings aren't fun anymore When my father tells me I'm too big to swing on the swing set And my mother asks if I'm pregnant. I'm not. I'm a size 14. My mother thinks I'm a size 10. When I try on the too-small clothes she brings home I cry in the privacy of my bedroom mirror, Oceans of salted pain worry over my face, Try to rinse away the guilt. At least I'm not an ugly crier.