Fatty

Run your fingers over those hideous stretchmarks
Feel the tips of them plunge into the fat spilling over your waistline.
Feel.

Hitch your britches over your stomach, hide it for now.
Pull your darkest shirt down to your knees, bury your sausage-like fingers into your pockets.
Hide.

You can't eat that, go for a run.
Your gym shorts don't even fit, do they?
Fail.

Your eyes mist over as you hear the scales settle. You didn't even know humans could store that much.
"You're a big girl, aren't you?" the nurse says, the wrinkles in her face forcing a smile.
Fat.