Words,
They could never hurt,
They could never cut,
They could never make you bleed,
Physically.

Words,
A manifestation of self-hate,
Written in bold,
Anorexia, Bulimia, Depression,
I was sold.

Words,
The last,
Written on a bloodstained note,
"I can't stay afloat"

"No offense but you're like really fat."
this was said to me in second grade by another kid
to be fair, yes i was an obese little second grader but i had been growing about three inches every year since i had turned three
i don't believe this person was being inherently malicious
but i will never forget their words and the way they made me feel

a shake weight table steak
powdered sugar cigarette
break burning in alcohol
and corn flakes

a big ******* cluster-****
of broken noses and carefully
crafted poses posting pictures
of processed hipster's and blisters,
****-stirrers and culture twisters
jockeying for a spot
all melting in the ***

quiz show **** beads and
fleshlight teenage dreams
soaking through entitled
suburban screens choking
on plastic screams

chocolate dipped cancer fingers

city bus exhaust lingers

prescription bottle salvation bringers

and underneath it all the bible
belt girdles the gurgling masses
of glazed diabetes and frosted
faith pooling in the belly of
America

a fat flabby mess of
snake oil boiling
in stomach acid
and pesticide

"welcome, honey! grab a seat
anywhere you'd like --I'll be
right with you!"

it hadn't been since aunt martha gave me the gift of a warm cinnamon  hinted hot chocolate on that brisk winter day, had I felt such warmth from a kind hearted soul...hands heated, warm ceramic reviving my icicle ******* (slow) blood flow

the cinnamon sparkle that gleamed and aromatized my gibbous eyes giving me a sense of acknowledgement
helping me to reach a state of full illumination
emit unprecedented light

such kindness and welcoming feelings
Wonka had encouraged me this way as I chewed my way through his half eaten golden ticket
a delightful treat but my taste buds hadn't treated it toooo delightfully

thank you for giving me your time and many thanks for permitting me to give you mine

the best part of my day is seeing you

and if i ever said i wasted it away....
            just
                                   remember
out of the 7 billion people (1000 i really know)
                 i chose
                            to waste it away
                                         with
                                                            ­  you.

p.s.

citronella and sit down with me cinderella

so you
tell me off
&
force me
not to eat
while you munch on your snacks
in front of my face
wow.

My body
My body gets looked at, talked about, shamed.

My body doesn't fit comfortably in an airline seat and my body keeps getting fatter.

My body offends and disgusts you.

My body absorbs the blows.
       the shocks
              it reverberates

the ripples

Take in more food.

EAT.

no one loves you.
no one ever could.

you're too FAT.
                   too hideous.

                   unlovable

So, I abuse my body.
                           I hurt it.
         give it more. move it less.
It grows, my own self-loathing grows.

Like water to a plant.
         Your gaze and comments like the sun    

My body continues to sprout.
upwards
outwards
all aroundwards

Making it harder to fit.
                  harder to move.
                  harder to Be.

I wish they loved my body, maybe I could have too.

Maybe I could have too.

How do I mend my relationship with my body?
How do I hate myself, less?

How could I?
How dare I?

The world doesn't.
It tells me all the reasons why I shouldn't.
                                                      ­                     I mustn't.

I must hate myself.

I must hate my body, that is what I deserve.
What my body deserves

Love is reserved for the thin.
                                the beautiful.

The beautiful.
I could never be beautiful.

It's a lie,
when they say it.
It's a lie.
when they say I am.

I am beautiful from the neck up.

but you'd never use that word,
                            designate it to my body.
                                                           ­  to the rest of me.

The rest of me should be tossed away.
                                              discarded.


Please sir, can I keep my head?
It's the only place I live, the only place I am allowed to be.

I am not allowed to be beautiful. not allowed to be thin.
that was not the hand I was dealt. not my lot in life.




I exist in the world with my shame exposed.

                                                       ­       On display.


Do you know how that feels?




No hiding.


No escaping.


No pretending.




I am fat.  
My body is fat.



and from first glance, you can see my unworthiness.

                                                  ­      My lack of deservedness

It's always there.

Some people know what it’s like
To feel a knot in the back of your throat
To feel that knot untying, loosening a seam
To know that there’s a hole  
To try and fill that hole
To know that there’s a hole that cannot be filled
To try and fill that hole.

Some people know what it’s like
To feel that brief blissful void
To know the release into nothingness
To think without weight
Only to become heavier.

Some people know what it’s like,
To want to be like them
To wait to be like them
To try to be like them, effortlessly
To fail to be like them, painstakingly.

And some People know, they are not alone

Oh
to be the girl in those adverts ,
Light,
skinny,
beautiful
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,
salvageable.

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