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Evie G Oct 14
to be the girl in those adverts ,
A tragic line
to every gentle rib
I fetishise her fragile fingers
A monstrous beast reflected in the mirror, the worst possibility.

Tis poetic, there she stares
Says her lines; remaining fair,
Into my face, My acting is heavy handed and awkward
She’s a consumable reality,
She’s easy on the eyes
The fragile female,

We are a tragedy of ages, her Juliet, I Faustus
They silently boo while I slop onto the stage
A lazy slob,The **** of society, just don’t eat you fat ****. men like curvy girls We don’t want to see you, You’re so brave!  You’re the problem, it’s not hard hide your mass from view, unkempt, repulsive, vile. hide yourself it offends my sharp eyes.
I open my drooling mouth to speak, but there are chins smothering my mouth
My eyes clouded by greasy cellulite
I don’t want to exist like this.

So just stop eating.

I’d give an arm and a leg,
my pale teeth,
my parasitic possibility
my child
Hey, bit of a violent change from my last post but I wrote it a while ago. If you have any better title ideas or notes PLEASE COMMENT :)
I’m confused
I don’t know how to be happy
was I happier fat?
Or am I happier skinny?
I can’t tell the difference
it’s all the same
it doesn’t matter what I look like
the pain will stick to my hip
through thick and thin.
Is it my body? Is it my clothes?  
or the way I don’t like the rounded curve of my nose?
it’s none of those.
Liza Aug 19
i turned eighteen today
the voice in my head had, something to say
“you’ve done so well, 132”
she told me “no one will recognize you”
that was before i lost all self control
looking around i see the ice cream bowl
now all i can do is eat
and eat
I get that beef fat and butter
in this day and age are a sin
and contribute to the decline
of myself and this earth

But, my lords and ladies,
I am weak
and beholden to the
grease shined smile
on stuffed chops
as my euphemistic dad ***
becomes ever more so,
ballooning to a middle age where
there be dragons

I plead mercy,
and perhaps some ice cream
my heart got fat

i won't
be able to get anywhere at the last moment
jump into arms
fall in love
crash against compromise

from now on
i'll be always in advance
                                            at waiting rooms
Ronin Jul 1
You tell me
I’m not that skinny
My BMI tells me
I’m way too skinny
You tell me
My waist isn’t that small
The internet tells me
My waist is small enough for modeling
You tell me
Everyone has size 2
Research tells me
The average size is size 12
You tell me
I’m not enough
Yet too much

I tell myself
I’m not enough
Yet too much.
newpoetica Jun 22
three inches --
that's how far away you are from a corset that cinches.

so close, yet so far...
you aren't up to standards, you aren't up to par.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder --
hell, you'll be even more grotesque as you get older.

words cut deeply from those you care for...
i'm sorry that i can't be your perfect little *****.
sorry my poetry has been so negative lately.
Here's an ode to make us laugh,
Boomers resilient to the last,
Survived high school in  the sixties,
Where we learnt cookery,
Girls did not have *****,
Couldn't do woodwork, over it!
Instead, made a pudding of suet,
Fat, fat, fat, eating to rue it!
Feedback welcome.
Lilith May 30
They say these stretch marks are my tiger stripes,
signs of my strength.
But I have never wanted to be a carnivore.
I don't want to prey on those smaller than me,
the ones so fragile I think they may crack.
I want to be a sunflower.
Long, and tall, and slim,
tilting toward the sunlight,
not just unafraid
but yearning to be seen.

I have not felt the sun on my skin in so long
that I have forgotten how it feels to burn,
to let the rays rest on my goosebumps
and sink into the warmth.
I think I am destined to be cold.
To shiver under my own scornful gaze in the bathroom mirror,
because even though I only ate dinner,
I still woke up fat.

I never asked to be covered in stripes,
these scars that have defined me and
defiled me.
Before I even knew what it meant to be marked
I knew to hide.
I knew to pray that the earth would swallow me whole,
because at least in the ground nobody has to see me.

The sunflower turns to face the sun,
to feel the warmth on its petals.
And one day I will peel off these layers of death on my bones
and I will face the sun
and let it burn.
Sheila Greene May 19
Tasting milky chocolate.
Joy, happiness begins.
My taste buds favorite!
I can’t wait, let’s eat again.

My fear of poor exercise.
The chocolate calls my name.
I try to forget it.
I am fatter, eat again.

Regret, regret chocolate.
Sad and sobbing, it’s aching.
Like a sad old portrait.
Therefore the sweetest tasting.
I love to eat and struggle with my weight.  Chocolate is my down fall on one hand and my savior on the other.
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