They always told her she was skinny,
'You're like a twig' they used to say,
'You need a good roast dinner' they'd tell her.
She grew up being proud,
Of the way her bones jutted through,
Her pink paper skin.
When she reached 15,
The junk food and pride,
Caught up with her.
By 16 all she saw in the mirror,
Was mountains of fat and rolls upon rolls,
She wondered if they would still call her skinny.
At 16, she began cutting down on meals,
'If I miss lunch, I'll lose a little weight.'
'I don't need breakfast, not to be skinny.'
She can't tell anyone else,
She's the skinny one,
She can't be fat.
They've started noticing now,
The rolls under her tshirt,
They seem to get some satisfaction,
That the skinny girl is fat.
By nearly 17 she cannot stomach more than one meal,
Anymore and she feels sick,
To the pit of her stomach.
Aged 17 she wonders,
If they'd've brought her up the skinny girl,
If they knew how fat she'd get when she grew up.
Aged 17 she wonders how she got so
*******
Fat.
This is massively personal, so just ignore it, if it does t appeal to you.
