Fat Girl
Called the fat girl by friends and family
since she was a child,
she swallowed her fear
like the hot sauce her father used to put
in all their food,
"just taste it," he'd say and she'd choke it down
sweating, unwilling to admit defeat
and his power over her
and hating the way it made her ears itch.
She faced dragons daily
at work
and on the subway
disguised like small-talk
and performance reviews
that put her down for problems
that were never really hers.
She stuffed shame
with boxes of Twinkies and
rocky road ice cream
washed down with diet soda
like a bandage
applied to a mortal wound.
Low self-esteem shouted itself
not from her lips but from hips
and legs that already struggled
with her weight.
Sometimes she vomited the food
but was unable to expel the pain
keeping her in bondage
and away from her true self,
a self she'd buried as a child
along with it's playmates hope and joy.
In the bare loneliness of evening
she wondered
what would resurrect
that person
or if she'd already died and gone to hell
punished daily with open stares, judgmental glances
and comments mumbled just loud enough to hear.
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