Back in 2nd grade
a girl told me
that my crush
thought I was fat.
On that day
my mother held me
as I cried.
On that day,
I became fat.
In 4th grade,
I overate
to cope with trauma.
In 5th grade,
I looked in the mirror
and felt old words
pound in my brain.
my mother told me to **** in,
I was only in 6th grade.
On that summer,
I began to play tennis.
I was told I could be great,
If I lost some weight.
In 7th grade,
a boy told me
I was chubby.
At 12 years old
Eating stressed me out
but eating was how I dealt with stress.
Now at 17,
I call BS.
I was nowhere near fat.
When I was chubby,
I had the right.
I almost lost my mother,
weight is what was gained.
My peers,
along with those who cared,
rewired me to hate myself,
while begging
me to love myself.
By age 13,
changing rooms brought panic,
snacks brought guilt,
whilst mirrors screamed
hateful thoughts.
But now I know the truth.
Words matter.
