9 A skinny story
I wish I knew nothing of the skinny story.
I wish I knew not the pressure of a breaking heart.
I wish I’d never heard of it, couldn’t talk about it.
I wish it wasn’t part of my life.
I wish I was happy with me.
I wish I liked my nose.
But I don't. I can’t. I won’t. And it’s impossible to make me.
This is my skinny story.
I was born this way. And even when I was fat, I wasn't. And who is to say what is fat and what is skinny and why does it matters. I’m sitting here and I can feel my thighs. And my stomach. And I hate they way they feel. I hate the way the sun catches the dimples on my arms. Does anyone else notice? Does anyone else hate it as much as me?
How could they not?
I can’t imagine ever waking up and saying - yay - to be me.
I can’t imagine waking up with a list of yes you cans; rather than a list of all the things you shouldn’t.
I wish I could make this empty stop.
I wish my head wasn't polluted with this stuff going round and round and round.
What would it be like to wake up and feel free.
Is that even a thing?