Unedited Poem #4: You Are What You Eat

on

My dresses don’t fit me anymore.

When you’re skinny, people think

You’re frail and weak. 

They interrupt you. 

My dresses don’t fit me any—

I tightly smile when people say,

You lucky girl!

And pat my shoulder blades.

My dresses don’t fit m—

You should be grateful, they say,

As they number their calories

And force themselves to shrink.

My dresses don’t—

Stop complaining, don’t you know

You have a gift? Eat some more,

They say.

I shrink and stoop and slowly subside

Like a still-small, silent wave.

My dresses—

There is a limit to this flesh

Of which I’m too aware.

My dresses—

You are what you eat,

They say.

My dresses—

And you are not enough.

My—

You are not enough.

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