Mommy must have thought Dad would love her less if she got fat
(I laugh at such an obvious lie)
She was sad her daughters were chubby
(One got anorexia, but I didn't change)
She told me my knees were ugly
I shouldn't wear such short skirts
fat legs weren't pretty
What?! 17 mag didn't say that!
But the lie hurt and tore my confidence
A crop top with a round belly isn't ugly either,
Ok?
No, I'm not OK
What do clothes have to do with freedom?
I dress for attention sometimes
But it's not ******
Is it alright to dress for attention?
We all want to look nice and get a complement
This Is My Freedom
It's Worth The Fight

If you want my heart you must ask my curves for permission first.
Convince them you will be the one to adore them, no matter their width or depth.
Let your hands do the talking.
Touch me so soft I tremble and you break the code.
Only then will they allow my chest to open and my heart will be yours to keep.

This is how I feel
Maybe that's not how I look
But this is how I feel
And that's whats important

I stare into the half length,
double wide vanity that sits
poised in my two bathroom home.

It's reflection of me, naked and
unrefined, are often and unmistakingly
disappointing. But, no longer.

I will embrace my scars of battle. I
will soak in the curves and crevices
of the weight I carry with me.

Counting carbs and chasing carrots
with salad day after day were never
really even my style.

Health. Happiness. Heart. Those
are what matter. Cliche, yes. But true:
A number on a scale is nothing.

I clutch my sides and embrace the
mountains that ridge and peak
laterally on my canvas.

I embrace my full bust and curvy
thighs with earnest demeanor. I
am an image of me. Nearly 20.

No longer will I hold my head low
at a passing glance. I refuse to hide
in clothes too large to disguise my shape.

Beauty is who you are. It's not what
you look like according to the golden
ratios or whatever the hell "they" say.