Sometimes I wish I was skinny.
Sometimes I wish I was skinny all the time.
Skinny enough for my one night stands.
Skinny enough for strangers.
Skinny enough for you.
Sometimes I wish I was so skinny, too skinny, to the bone.
To the point where people would look at me and think to themselves, “how could she let it get this far?” If I had just noticed the signs, the signals, the long stare from my friends and family when I was eating, when I wasn’t eating.
If I was skinny, I would be happy, normal, relieved.
I’d be healthy, active, in love.
If only I was skinny, I could be a size zero, I could be nothing.
Yet, because I’m fat, I’m everything.
I’m the guilt behind your dessert.
I’m the fluorescent light in the dressing room.
I’m the spanx you wear underneath your clothes.
I’m the shame you try to hide when you’ve gained weight.
But still, she’s pretty for a fat girl.