In the seventh grade I didn’t know I could like boys yet.
So when everyone else started dating
I spent my time idly liking this girl.
I asked her to dance once.
She was much taller than me and this altercation
dangled the notion of beauty overhead in every way like shitty dime store streamers scotch taped around the sistine chapel.
I stared into her eyes as the night fell apart and I was petrified to marble
Because there was pity in their dark recesses and in contrast
I was like
A monumental statue
Designed to fill
the negative space
in the worst possible way.
For the first time I felt ugly.
You never get called fat to your face anymore
it’s just particles of pollution
like acid rain eroding a statue.
So I am less afraid of being fat and more paranoid
because you cannot dodge glances and you cannot dodge concrete floors and statues don’t float
Thus I am not afraid of swimming, but I am afraid of the social implications of swimming pools.
To the era where “skinny” and “beautiful” were not synonyms
Where people like me were dashing and handsome and
Were depicted as
Grand marble statues that
reached up toward the sky in an air of grandeur
People have always implied
That I should take up less space but there is nothing authentic about me that
is not large and loud and in your face.
My body is no temple
It is a cathedral
Much too large for its initial purpose but it occupies the space it is given and it
extends infinitely toward the sky and
when people gaze upon it they are in awe of its beauty within and without
I am constructed from stained glass and concrete and the bottoms of empty cartons of ice cream.
I don’t know what it’s like to not be fat.
But I do know what it’s like to be beautiful.