Stretch Marks,
Disgusting.
Wide Hips,
Disgusting.
Fat Stomach,
Disgusting.
Big Thighs,
Disgusting.
Overweight,
Disgusting.

By the time I was 7 years old,
I had already memorized my curves and associated them
with the outcased negativity
that drifts through tabloid magazines,

If we’re being honest,
I’ve spent the majority of my life
digging my nails into my stomach,
taking a few punches to the gut
with every teardrop that fell on my mothers scale,

Those numbers feel like gunshots to the head,
killing the lifeless body I feel like I’m constantly trapped in,

I can feel my skin drooping over my belt and
melting onto the floor with every skinny brat
that scans me up and down like I’m a disease

And no matter how many people tell me I’m beautiful as I am,
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to believe it because

The world taught me I was less than in the worst way,
The world taught me I was unfortunately different,
The world taught me I was tremendously alone,

that he wouldn’t love me,
that they wouldn’t need me,
that I wasn’t worth anything,

so God help me,
make someone understand,
that all the meals I skipped
because of the boys that mercilessly told me I was fat,
didn’t help me thin out,
didn’t help me feel beautiful,
but rather helped me feed the self hate
burning
inside every piece of food I’ve ever swallowed.