Being Enough
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be enough.
Are these hips too wide? Is this belly too big? How do I look from the side?
I got A’s on all my tests and quizzes.
Sometimes the mirror is too small and I wish I bought something bigger.
I wish there was something that would hold it all in
And sometimes I spend hours pressing around my chest looking for a clavicle.
I was on the Dean’s list again.
Sometimes I wake up painted in sunlight and for a second I feel beautiful
Before I remember that he fell in love with someone thinner
And then I start trying to drown in blankets.
I won awards for my photographs.
He said he doesn’t like fat girls, but he will still see me,
But only if it’s in the dark
And I want to scream that I am a bright light and he will never be able to un-see me
But instead I keep my mouth closed like I broke my jaw
Because if my lips part it means food will go in and he will be right.
I saw my favorite band recently.
He talks about fat people like they are vermin but it is so subtle that it doesn’t sting at first, and I hope he doesn’t notice that we are standing close enough that we could be holding hands.
I hope he doesn’t see me, I hold my breath and hope he doesn’t know.
There are creases in my clothes that an iron will never take care of
And I stand in front of a window wondering if that’s really me I see all blurry and undefined
I catch my reflection as I’m twisting my head and see that my cheek blends in with my neck.
But I can’t scream.
When he touches her arm the size of my wrist
I can’t scream
When he says she is so pretty without tripping over his tongue
But hums and pushes me in, forces me into his words like an afterthought too big for the movie theater seats.
My friend said I saved her life.
Sometimes I just stand in the shower under hot water and hope it’ll melt away.
I don’t feel my body, as if my body is just space.
Three years with no harm.
I open my mouth about to take a bite and I feel eyes digging into every inch of my body.
No one is looking at me, but I can see their words circling me.
At a party, I come early so I can eat before too many people show.
I am afraid of passing out on their living room floor.
I am afraid of him looking at me.
I eat quickly and carefully, to not make noise and I stare at the floorboards looking for the loose ones so I can pry them up and bury myself before the night is through.
Sometimes.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and smile
I stand there for hours just me and my hands.
My freckles are stars.
There are constellations under my eyes that civilizations pray to.
My skin shows a saga, a twisting plot enveloping in every fold and scratch and scar and birthmark.
Gullies and valleys and winding hills, all mountains stretching and creeks bending blue all over my body.
I am something created from the death of suns.
The words of sons will never destroy me.
I have worked through plus signs and percentages.
I have been successful.
I have done great things.
I have saved my friends.
I have saved myself.
I am loved. I love. I am love.
Sometimes I want to disappear or grow smaller and smaller until I am just thin scrapes.
I’ll probably never be fully okay.
But sometimes I eat in a crowded room.
Sometimes I stare down the reflection I catch.
I always have the lights on.
I am never in the dark.
I turn away from shallow graves and watery deaths and cement thrones.
I scream until my throat is raw.
I am here. See me. You can see me and take it all in.
My bones are all here, even if you can’t see them.
I don’t need to keep digging.
His love isn’t even good enough.
Why should I pine for a rotten apple?
When I am made of gold?
I take up space and I refuse to let you blink, take it all in.
Will I ever be enough?
Hips wide and belly big and I look great from the side.
I am finally fucking enough.
Sometimes I will have to lie, but.
I am enough.
Are these hips too wide? Is this belly too big? How do I look from the side?
I got A’s on all my tests and quizzes.
Sometimes the mirror is too small and I wish I bought something bigger.
I wish there was something that would hold it all in
And sometimes I spend hours pressing around my chest looking for a clavicle.
I was on the Dean’s list again.
Sometimes I wake up painted in sunlight and for a second I feel beautiful
Before I remember that he fell in love with someone thinner
And then I start trying to drown in blankets.
I won awards for my photographs.
He said he doesn’t like fat girls, but he will still see me,
But only if it’s in the dark
And I want to scream that I am a bright light and he will never be able to un-see me
But instead I keep my mouth closed like I broke my jaw
Because if my lips part it means food will go in and he will be right.
I saw my favorite band recently.
He talks about fat people like they are vermin but it is so subtle that it doesn’t sting at first, and I hope he doesn’t notice that we are standing close enough that we could be holding hands.
I hope he doesn’t see me, I hold my breath and hope he doesn’t know.
There are creases in my clothes that an iron will never take care of
And I stand in front of a window wondering if that’s really me I see all blurry and undefined
I catch my reflection as I’m twisting my head and see that my cheek blends in with my neck.
But I can’t scream.
When he touches her arm the size of my wrist
I can’t scream
When he says she is so pretty without tripping over his tongue
But hums and pushes me in, forces me into his words like an afterthought too big for the movie theater seats.
My friend said I saved her life.
Sometimes I just stand in the shower under hot water and hope it’ll melt away.
I don’t feel my body, as if my body is just space.
Three years with no harm.
I open my mouth about to take a bite and I feel eyes digging into every inch of my body.
No one is looking at me, but I can see their words circling me.
At a party, I come early so I can eat before too many people show.
I am afraid of passing out on their living room floor.
I am afraid of him looking at me.
I eat quickly and carefully, to not make noise and I stare at the floorboards looking for the loose ones so I can pry them up and bury myself before the night is through.
Sometimes.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and smile
I stand there for hours just me and my hands.
My freckles are stars.
There are constellations under my eyes that civilizations pray to.
My skin shows a saga, a twisting plot enveloping in every fold and scratch and scar and birthmark.
Gullies and valleys and winding hills, all mountains stretching and creeks bending blue all over my body.
I am something created from the death of suns.
The words of sons will never destroy me.
I have worked through plus signs and percentages.
I have been successful.
I have done great things.
I have saved my friends.
I have saved myself.
I am loved. I love. I am love.
Sometimes I want to disappear or grow smaller and smaller until I am just thin scrapes.
I’ll probably never be fully okay.
But sometimes I eat in a crowded room.
Sometimes I stare down the reflection I catch.
I always have the lights on.
I am never in the dark.
I turn away from shallow graves and watery deaths and cement thrones.
I scream until my throat is raw.
I am here. See me. You can see me and take it all in.
My bones are all here, even if you can’t see them.
I don’t need to keep digging.
His love isn’t even good enough.
Why should I pine for a rotten apple?
When I am made of gold?
I take up space and I refuse to let you blink, take it all in.
Will I ever be enough?
Hips wide and belly big and I look great from the side.
I am finally fucking enough.
Sometimes I will have to lie, but.
I am enough.