Note: This is an original piece I wrote last year, only ever published in my private tumblr whose link I have never shared with anybody else except perhaps one person. This was written at a time I had gained noticeable weight and was really very tired of hearing how this affected everybody else’s lives more than it did mine. To all the body-shamers out there, this one’s for you!
i live in a society whose culture dictates that this waistline
is owned and regulated by everyone else
on every pair of jeans i own is a tag that reads “26”
a tag that dictates whether i deserve a slap or a kiss
i don’t really know who it was
that decided that “you got fatter”
and “you put on weight”
were appropriate and accepted conversation starters
i mean, whoever it was
must have had nothing better to do with their time
and felt that the digits of your waistline
were direct translations of your worth in numbers
as if your waistline was proportional
to your own perception of self worth
equating to your meager existence being given the backseat
meaning that your weight was a license for others to treat you like shit
why was the weighing scale used to measure
the amount of respect a person was due
if i took this measuring tape and wrapped it around your ego,
the least i would get would be a three digit combo
for some reason i could never really comprehend
how it was possible for their massive fat hungry egos
to deserve a placemat on the table
gorging on a plate full of carb-filled lies and meaty fables
while you starve yourself by the bathroom floor
puking out your confidence on all fours
and as you flush it down with just a tinge of hope
hope that’ll carry you as far as the next joke
and really i’m so fucking over it
when people tell me off, “no, that has carbs in it”
and “that’ll go straight to your thighs”
as if it’s such a big crime to indulge in some fries
i mean for fuck’s sake,
why should we have to starve ourselves
for the sheer purpose of their comfort
and their comfort alone
what about the comfort i need
when it’s night and i can’t breathe
for the fear that my stomach will get bigger
and in those last conscious minutes, my resolve would almost waver
you can sleep through the stomach’s call
and pretend it’s but an irrelevant message
because really what kind of gall does it have to disturb your sleep
each time it contracts in pain and in pinpricks
why should you have to suck in a breath
each time one of them pokes on the rolls of your stomach
and calls you names that reach inside with a crack
your body isn’t theirs to compress
your body is a temple
a temple built from the strongest of marble
but not a temple to be desecrated by their gods
not a temple to be burnt by their mortals
listen, friend, the secret is this
skin will tear and crack and wither
with a few broken scars to consider
and flesh will decay and rot and whisper
“you are a roll too many,
and a pound too heavy”
but your bones are strong enough to carry that weight
your bones are there to carry on in that state
your bones will break and crumble to dust
but they’ll never give up on the scale of your bust
it’ll stick to your flesh and your flesh to your skin
this is your foundation that’ll carry on your kin
your bones will buck and tremble
but this is the strongest part of you that is able
able to move and duck and cradle
the flesh you carry that you are so ashamed of
see, the strongest parts of you are covered
by those prone to society’s prodding and curse
measured not by a measuring tape or weighing scale
but by how much it can carry and carry on
you are made up of so much more than just flesh
and after all this is over your bones will remain
with no sign of fats or waistlines or weight gain
so who gives a fuck about the weighing scale
i don’t really know who it was
that decided that “you got fatter”
and “you put on weight”
were appropriate and accepted conversation starters
i mean, whoever it was
must have felt that their opinion was worth our time
but what i really mean is fuck you
really, fuck you and fuck off
