BODY IMAGE Poem: LOZENGE, by AJ Donley

6

“you need to put your meat on those bones”
my mother, washing my hair in the bathtub
shakes her head at the ribs poking through skin
bronzed from playing games in the sun
too much energy, too high a metabolism
she feeds me my first lozenge
round and smooth with an aftertaste of womanhood

8

“with those long legs and tiny hips, you should be a dancer”
a family friend smiles through envy
pushing me toward a childhood she wished she had
telling me my body is wasted
on other sports
she hands me a lozenge
I can feel its weight on my tongue

11

“doesn’t it scare you to be in a swimsuit in front of all those people?”
the thought had never crossed my mind
that sports could be a place for gawking
there’s an athlete under this skin
whose muscles are aching to grow
envious of breasts that get all the attention, unwanted
and instead of high protein diets
I take lozenges shaped like the eyeballs in the stands
that I can’t not see

13

“you’re never going to break 100 pounds”
the doctor laughs, writes down my weight
with one hand, with the other hands me a lozenge
I taste a surge of pride
numbers something to be conquered

15

“aren’t you scared you’ll bulk up?”
my infantile curves finally have a hint
of muscle but still a lot of bone
clavicles that call to men
ribs that poke through my shirt
hip bones that apparently yell “grab me”
all I want is to bulk up, to be strong, to be believed
that I own this body
so I take lozenges with my morning vitamins
wash them down with protein shakes

16

“you’re too small to join weight lifting”
the boys from the football team chuckle
when I grab the 35-pound bar because the 45 is too heavy
they laugh at me from across the gym
then check me out when I walk past
they throw lozenges at me with their gazes
and for some reason I eat them, famished

18

“you could be a model”
my boyfriend, my first love
thinks this is a compliment
like I haven’t spent my life wishing myself better
than magazine covers
knowing that the body I want isn’t celebrated in Vogue
but this lozenge still tastes sweet
tastes like calories I’m suddenly aware of
tastes like winning

20

“don’t worry, she’ll lose that weight once she gets back into shape”
my dad to my lover
watching me at a college swim meet
I have gained weight from stress
ten, fifteen pounds all to my belly
and some days I rub my hands over her and forgive her
her shame, her second helpings
and some days I turn my head from the mirror
won’t let the man who loves me touch her
protecting her from the lozenges I’ve come to expect
whose flavors seep from my pores in spite of myself
that tell her that she is not worthy
even though this body
shatters records, makes men weak,
can lift more than some of the guys now
the lozenge tastes stale but still I eat it
wash it down with water from my Gatorade bottle

21

“eat a sandwich”
I’ve lost the weight and gained it back in sheer muscle
in prowess
my stomach is tucked back and rippled
my bones are covered in muscle, sleek
and wanted and worked for
my ass is small but muscular
and I’ve weighed more than I ever have
and I feel better than I ever have
but crop tops aren’t as cute
over abs as they are over hip bones
bras aren’t as sexy
over pecs as they are over breasts
and I replace the lozenges I’m given with vitamins because
my body doesn’t need to fit
your narrative
your expectations
your size 00 jeans
it just needs to fit me, and it does

23

“you’re wasting away”
mental illness comes in waves
sometimes it leaves things in its wake
and sometimes it takes things with it
I’ve lost all the muscle
I’m the lightest I’ve been in my adult life
I am a carcass, a shell of the power
I once possessed
but at least I’m getting my fill of lozenges
from people who say “have seconds”
I’m told they taste sweet
so when I hear concerns I taste compliments
when people look me when I don’t want them to
at least I am seen
when men touch me without permission
at least I know someone will touch me
I belong in magazines again
all knee caps and cheek bones and floating ribs
sinews of pain
corpuscles of withdrawal

24

“I am beautiful”
me, to myself in the bathroom mirror
naked and crying and smiling
I’m still learning how to spit out lozenges
that taste like compliments
but sit heavy like judgment in my gut
I haven’t looked at a scale in months
I haven’t looked at a nutrition label in months
I drank bougie coffee the other day
and didn’t have to pretend to feel ashamed
of the calories or of the fat
I am beautiful without others’ expectations
I am beautiful without my own expectations
I am learning to eat whatever I want whenever my body wants it
and I never save room for lozenges