He asked me:
"You're one of the chubby ones, aren't you?"
I didn't know how to respond.
Maybe I thought if I stayed silent,
the question would go away.
I had been feeling so good,
as if I’d finally escaped my insecurities.
I didn’t think a couple of words
could do so much damage.
But why didn’t I see it coming?
I curled my hair to distract from my round face.
I wore chunky necklaces
to hide the folds on my neck.
Big rings on my fingers,
so no one would notice their size.
Tight clothes cinched at my waist,
and every chance I got,
I’d **** in my stomach,
hoping they wouldn’t see my belly.
When I looked like a whale,
I hid beneath oversized black jackets,
draping my arms in the shadows.
I painted my face with makeup,
layer after layer,
as if it could camouflage the body underneath.
I live in a world where they say:
“Femininity is beautiful, embrace it.”
Another screams:
“Be strong, be invincible.”
Yet in the arms of a man,
the script flips completely.
“Let him lead. Let him control you.
Submit.”
“Don’t say no;
it will turn him off.”
And now, apparently,
they prefer when we beg them to stop.
Every compliment always felt like a cruel joke,
Every compliment had its own flaw.
But Finally, I looked at him and said,
"Why does it matter?
This is my first attempt at prose poetry, I hope you like it!
