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Claiming my Body



I thought it was extremely clever To wear a cloak, a reality that others and I couldn’t see, I wore a size bigger, everyday Day and again – it made me think I lived another life One that was free of judgment One that flattened my wholesome curves That didn’t stop me from excruciatingly policing other’s bodies I cringed on others who stitched shirts their sizes, calling them pregnant Or had to ‘guts’ to swimming in their peanut sized trunks To be crazy enough to show the world their reality In all its largeness I knew this shadow meant something Even if I didn’t, it had been made clear to me It was bigger than those who snared and giggled, “Is that a chest or a breast”, they asked As the measuring tape tirelessly finished its circumference around my body I remained quiet – for I didn’t know – what was it really? As the numbers kept increasing on the scales, I drowned in a pool of shame and animosity The way my thighs expanded as I sat on the floor, for the first time in my life – I wished to run, away Each time I showered, it was an honest intercourse Some facets blinded, some perhaps not This was my body… in what way could I have owned it? The shape of my nipples, Was this normal to have? Why couldn’t mine be like the ones in movies? Or those tinier ones that didn’t protrude through my t-shirt? The density of my love handles, Wasn’t this what most men appreciated on a woman? The way it filled up a woman? A sexy, voluptuous woman! The hilly curves through which the water passed through, And my hands had to laboriously scrub, the surface area of what seemed to be an unending lawn to mow And those that were wrapped up by a robe, my incessant clothing, and my innermost insecurities Why was I expected to hide, something that was faithfully mine?

Just as legitimate as my other achievements, my face...my life? I very consciously walked, bare, or bear A brave walk from the bathroom to my room as others glared – Why could bodies be desirable in a fuzzy towel in a size that didn’t adhere to me? But each time I ate a bagel with extra cream cheese or dipped cheesy fries in mayo, I could spiritually connect with body more than the sex I wasn’t going to have, It was an explosive orgasm, of my heart But every time I sat on the pot, I could feel the layers, the fluid folds, the bursting of cheese on inches of my pizza pie, The refillable soda I didn’t refuse and the reliable whipped cream I showered my dessert with deliriously, And the dreadful walks to the fridge, the supermarket, the kitchen And the haven once I shut the door and began to eat in peace on my sheets, But they came right back – I didn’t want to see a body that others didn’t want to To drape or buy couture for a body not worth living in, A body that others wouldn’t want to see walk past, forget to bed Now when I look down at my body, I ponder Why did I ever seek validation from others on two things most precious to me? My heart and my gut.

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