am i too much for you?
is it that fact i have a loose *****, or two, or three
did i really need to see you through for every day you
touched me, looked me in the eye, said the fire will never die
but it did

and that hoodie fills a space between two legs,
square pegs into round holes, binge eating until you
hurt your throat
but you still devote yourself to being
skinny

and that word has plagued me for so long, like a song, like a call, and now i need to know, before i fall, am i skinny enough to be loved? is my collarbone every going to be a wishing well, will i burn in hell for the simple sin of being fat?

but in reality, the only real causality was myself
i force fed myself discipline, hoped someone
would listen, but they never did

even the shrinks said i was crazy
and that i was lazy for not going out, excising until
my skin split and a beautiful butterfly emerged
then i'd surge into battle like a goddess

but when your thighs are thick and you aren't modest,
and when you wear lipstick too thick like a woman
with double Ds and an ache between her knees
you know that if you were skinny, you'd never have
these problems, and if you did
you'd know how to solve them
to be skinny
is to be graceful

even in suicidal rages
that flip through pages and pages of stories before they rip my own
from existence
need to be kept under control and kept at a distance like
a tiger that has the taste for human flesh

but now i know i'm the best, because i have a good ****,
long legs and a pretty face
but i'm too hard to replace in this overpriced world
where girls are told to starve themselves

to a neutral, non-pear shape
until their ******* are the tip of an hourglass
their waists are too thin to last
and their eyes are longing for even the tiniest indulgence
avoiding food and any substance
that would jeopardize
skinny

but then i realized
if skinny was so important
then why did all those who were it
probably also were just a little bit away from going insane
and we were in the same boat, staying afloat together
on the ocean of
skinny

so i wrote this poem
for every single girl or woman
who needed a book or a booking
to make them feel beautiful, and by beautiful i mean
skinny

but beautiful can be skinny,
but it can also be thighs like tree trunks,
arms like rivers
and a body that delivers nothing but happiness to that of it's owner

and my body is not some loaner car you
can trash and get away with
there will be fines,
for i am fine,

but in those times, where
nothing was ever promised to me
i started to see

beautiful could mean
staying up to take care of your kids,
single-mothering and being glad your husband
got rid of himself before you could, because
you can do a much better job without the chain-smoke
and you stay woke
forever
because skinny is a construct

or it could mean
studying in waters of student loans,
feeling alone as the only ******* campus
but working hard to become a lawyer or a doctor,
she will always be her mother's daughter

i'd say words stronger than this,
but there are children here,
but ***** skinny!
i am beautiful,
you are beautiful
and by beautiful
i mean anything you want it to mean.

It's before first-period...
My teachers see me walking down the hallway and rudely gawk at my body as if it's some sort of disgrace.
Flash forward...
My teacher calls the assistant principal down to 'approve' my clothes.
I'm sent to the office to find out my mother was on her way.
The same mother who has to work every day to make a living, and to pay for my clothes.
The same mother who's making eighty-one cents to my principal's dollar.
The same mother who taught me to love my body and how to look appropriate.
The same mother who approved and complimented me, only an hour before, earlier that morning.
The bell for the second period rings.
I'm still sitting in the office.
Because wasting my time over what I'm wearing is more important than my education. Right?
I can hear the whispers of my degrading school's staff.
A few higher established adults to an 'outfit check'.
Quickly after, the assistant called my name.
I gulped down my fear and anxiety, as I stood up.
Then I'm sent into a room.
The dullest, dark, and grayest room I have ever entered.
"Hello Lina, we're gathered here to talk about your outfit today."
A tee shirt dress with shorts underneath.
It reminded me of when I was in the fifth grade.
Girls were told that we needed to cover ourselves up because boys thought about our bodies in a ****** manner, and if we dressed a certain way and something happened, it was our fault.
It's getting close to the third period when my mother arrives.
After the constant duel to what seemed, death, with words, I got to go.
I didn't have to change this time.
I was lucky.
Lucky that a teacher came to my defense along with my mother, and told them my outfit was fine, and I couldn't help that I was a curvier girl.
Instead of focusing on what girls are wearing, maybe we should tell boys to keep their hands to themselves and grow up.
Because that's what the girls have to learn from an early age.
Our bodies shouldn't be over sexualized for what's covering them.
Girls are **** shamed and dress coded everywhere because of what we wear.
What if we focused on teaching students to be mature young adults, rather than disgusting pigs who apparently can't handle a girl who shows her shoulders?
Let's all obsess over real world problems.
Not what someone wears, or if it's distracting to boys.
Just when someone starts having confidence (which is a victory in itself), we're torn down based off of the clothes we put on our bodies.
Girls are taught that it's our fault.
Boys can just open and claim your body, like some kind of book.
Even when the only word printed is NO.
We struggle in our bodies from such a young age.
Instead of worrying about a girl's apparel, let's worry about the men who need to learn to control themselves.

I lie here tracing my own skin
Drawing invisible lines between
My freckles so meticulously placed
Because who will marvel at
The contour of my wrists
And the sharp edges of my hips
If not me?

this body has always felt more like a prison than a sanctuary but a life sentence beneath my skin seems less daunting since you've come around

i'm not sure what it is
about me that
makes you want to
be thin
i guess i never told
you enough

it's your flaws i'm interested in

        l.r.

you cringe,
as you look in the mirror.

you say a prayer,
hoping God can erase this hate.

you hate you.
how did we get here?

you try to hide it,
hide the many tears and the scars.

you hear people say "she is so beautiful, so bold, so carefree",
your skin crawls.

you try and hide,
be smaller,
be invisible.

but everyone can see,
they can smell it.

your body is aching,
from all the stares.

your soul is rotting,
from all the times self-love was promised, but never given.

you have an enemy,
this enemy is you,
it has always been you.

Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.

I lumber sluggishly,
dragging the weight of my body.
Every pound is tethered to me,
I can’t escape the heaviness.

I am stuffed into clothes,
encased in figure-hugging fabric
that looks better on the hanger
than my rounded, fleshy torso.

The scale is an unlucky lottery ticket
displaying a number
that I will carry around
shamefully like a scarlet letter.

I count calories like beads on a rosary,
making sure I shrink to conformity
critical of every extra curve
because to love my size is a societal sin.

Airbrushed beauty queens
and slender starlets
wear their size 0 like a badge of honor
in the battlefront of glossy magazine covers.

I’m crushed with the weight of the world I inhabit
a place that teaches girls to be self-conscious
of each pound that sticks to their body
instead of teaching them to be confident in their own skin.

I’m tired of micromanaging each nutrient that touches my lips,
to achieve a slender frame that resists my big-***** body
self love is not a one-size-fits-all
and I will radically adore every ounce that is tethered to me.

She looks down at her body
And closes her blue eyes
It takes all of her self-control
To not start crying
Because as these girls are proclaiming
How proud they are to be skinny
The only thing she can think is
“I’m trying to be okay with myself.”
Because as she looks at her toes,
She sees her *******
And her stomach
And her feet
She thinks she’s so fat
Or so ugly
But so do caterpillars
Before they realize their potential
For butterflies