No matter how many magazines try to "branch out" by showing plus-sized models, or how many people start hashtag campaigns, or post make-up-less selfies, there are always insecurities that refuse to unlatch themselves from your heart.
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+Size
would you believe me if I told you that scars can come
and go and grow
and shrink like stretch marks on an outer thigh or would I have to show you
peel back my leggings trace the faded weak spots
the moments I gave in
what counsel could you give
nothing can shield a sufferer from his own deeds
we know we are wilting we know
we are growing
when I close my eyes I see forks and dried fruit
I see the dollars spent I see the metphormin running low
somewhere back inside my mind is little seven year old me trying very hard not to smush her upper arms against her body
what can you tell that little girl
what would you say, what advice do you give, what statistic does she become?
there is nothing new to scold her with
she has already learnt these ways
and they are ingrained, branded onto her very skin
more permanent than any scar--stretch mark--moment of giving in
