I have weighed 97 pounds. I have weighed 220 pounds. I have weighed every pound in between. And I am still fat. I am still mounds and masses and glorious rolls and an empty stomach waiting, waiting to be full.
People post videos telling the world to hate me and those like me because I am fat. They shame me because I am not a size two, but a size ten, and they tell me no one will love me because I am not skinny. And maybe. Maybe I put food into my mouth because no one wants to put their lips on my lips and touch me with their love. Maybe I am fat because of the videos saying not to be.
I am a size ten. I work out six days a week. I drink juices with chia seeds and spinach. I weigh one hundred and eighty three glorious pounds. I put makeup on my face and jewelry in my body and I cover myself with clothes that make me look hot. Hot to guys that don’t want me for me but for my tits and for my ass and who wants that? Who wants to be wanted for a body that fluctuates, a body that can rip itself apart if you only start to talk about how you much don’t love me? You don’t… love me?
I am only as good as the sandwiches I make when you demand them of me. I am only as good as the sandwiches I put in my mouth when you leave me. I am only as good as the brushes on my nightside table and the mirror on my windowsill and the garments in my closet. I am only that good. I am only a body. I am nothing. I am worthless. I am. I am. I am. I am an entity. I am a person. I am transcendent. I am above. I am more than sucking my cheeks in for the camera and making my belly go away when the lights come on after you fuck me. I am more than you fucking me. I am more than the metal in my face. I am more than the amount of matches I get on TInder. I am more than the sugar dripping from the orange juice I drink into my veins after three whole days of not eating anything. I am the choices I make. I am the words I speak.. I am what I decide to be. I am frantic poems written late at night and quiet books read as the sun goes down. I am turning over in the morning and looking at the empty bed beside me and smiling because I dreamed of a love story where I loved me for me and not because anyone said I shouldn’t, but because I said I should.