They say
Only a fattass finds fulfillment
In the crevaces of a cookie;
In a piece of a pizza
Pie
And who am I
To disagree
with them, the self-righteous
Masses,
all self-conscious, self-hating
asses
condescending; never-ending
reminding me
constantly
that I’ll never be
good enough
smart enough
pretty enough
for anyone.
The message conflicts
and nothing sticks
but the fat
on my back
and with this whisper
I have the strength
To purge
The words
from my head
And expel these rolls
And assume the roles
Delegated
to
My emaciated
Frame-
No shame
No blame,
Nor pain
Nor sane-
insanity, the way to be
to express
The stress,
This mess.
I attest,
The best
of me
Concealed
beneath
the bile
In my chest.