Forging All Trust

I am plagued by the fatness of my body.

My lumpy, jiggly “thunder” thighs
Have been a solace to him,
And many men:
Their heads and hips – tools for mutual pleasure.
In my twenties
I lost count
Of the men who made use of
The fatness of my body.

The fatness of my body hides my insecurities.
That I’m not beautiful enough, and I aim to stay that way.
That’s who I am:
Never enough.

I stare
Small waists
Tiny bodies
Lustful & envious & desire.

And I eat another spoonful of ice cream:
Despair flavor.

Looks are currency.
I’m convinced.
See how much attention I get.
Not even cat-called.

I’m the girl she can be friends with, because I am not a threat.
Men will look right past me: to her.
The Beauty ™
Thin. Small waist.

That’s everything I’m not.
Thin & beautiful.
Unattractive. Not noticable. 0 attention. 0 messages. 0 calls. No boys.

I can’t pretend I’m not bothered.
I count my worth the currency of External Validation.

Looks: he could do better.
Personality & intellect: I beat them all.
But he walks right by that. I’m never given a chance. My externals could never match my profound, intricate internals.

I glance in the mirror, spackled with words of affirmation.
Light reflects head to toe upon the shadows & curves;
Hidden valleys & gorges.
I am critical. I can learn to love myself.
Until I find internal validation;

I am plagued by the fatness of my body.

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