The smell of **** fills my senses.
Going to the market early, before waking hours,
To get the food shamelessly.
I grab it before another hungry hand can.
My stomach twists, and still I push on—
Must push on—for I have dived through garbage
To feed my aching, bleeding, ******* body.
A body that can never be controlled,
No matter how much the beatings hurt me,
Or the assaults tried to break me.
They could never break my soul.
They could never take my laughter away from me.
So now, I try to laugh and eat however much I can.
And if those want to look upon my fat body with disgust, let them.
May they never know what it’s like
To starve for most of your entire life.
They go on their diets, using starvation as a hobby,
When many people don’t have it as a hobby—
They have it as a way to survive, to be alive,
Because they have no choice.
I come home, wash off the **** and the dirt,
And make a dinner of vegetables.
I go to the garden and pick off a fruit—
Those grapefruits as my meals—and I endure it all
In complete silence.
I had no one around me telling me I would be okay.
The silence of being in a richer area, but being poorer,
Haunted and gnawed at my insides.
Every day I would wake up, put on a nice dress, and scrounge.
When I hear them laugh at those "poor people,"
My heart turns. Because you know—
I was one of them, too.
When I hear people say, "Oh, I don’t care to be rich,"
I think: Okay, but make sure to not be poor, then.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 5:34 PM UTC
The smell of **** fills my senses.
Going to the market early, before waking hours,
To get the food shamelessly.
I grab it before another hungry hand can.
My stomach twists, and still I push on—
Must push on—for I have dived through garbage
To feed my aching, bleeding, ******* body.
A body that can never be controlled,
No matter how much the beatings hurt me,
Or the assaults tried to break me.
They could never break my soul.
They could never take my laughter away from me.
So now, I try to laugh and eat however much I can.
And if those want to look upon my fat body with disgust, let them.
May they never know what it’s like
To starve for most of your entire life.
They go on their diets, using starvation as a hobby,
When many people don’t have it as a hobby—
They have it as a way to survive, to be alive,
Because they have no choice.
I come home, wash off the **** and the dirt,
And make a dinner of vegetables.
I go to the garden and pick off a fruit—
Those grapefruits as my meals—and I endure it all
In complete silence.
I had no one around me telling me I would be okay.
The silence of being in a richer area, but being poorer,
Haunted and gnawed at my insides.
Every day I would wake up, put on a nice dress, and scrounge.
When I hear them laugh at those "poor people,"
My heart turns. Because you know—
I was one of them, too.
When I hear people say, "Oh, I don’t care to be rich,"
I think: Okay, but make sure to not be poor, then.