of the word
in your mouth,
before you set it free
to cling to the skin
the smallest words
This poem is deeply personal.
Years ago I battled bulimia.
I have, ever since I can remember, been in a constant struggle to accept my body. Many of my poems reflect this, and the healing that I have since found, but the battle always rages within—anyone recovered from an eating disorder will tell you the same.
Today, I am deeply passionate about body-positivity and appreciating bodies of all sizes and shapes. I exercise because I love the feeling and I eat to be healthy.
My spirit was bent out of shape from the very first time I was called ‘fat’—I was about 5 years old, and that word followed me for most of my formative years.
When others stopped; I continued calling myself ‘fat’.
F a t.
It is such a small word, isn’t it? And yet, it is a heavy word to carry.
It marks you.
Leaves you standing there—naked under the scrutiny of the one who flung it your way.
I have so much to write on this topic. So, so much, but just for tonight—this—take care with this word. Feel its weight before you allow it to cling to the skin of another.