BODY IMAGE Poem: This Body Is Not Mine, by Grace Story

I feel trapped inside the husk they call my body
I am weak like the pillowy overhangs of my flesh
As it piles a top itself
and overflows over the waist of my pants

I am acutely aware of
The size of everyone in the room
And
The snacks on the table
The promise of serotonin
wrapped up in sugary satisfaction
But,
Of course
the fat girl wants a snack

I am the butt of every joke
The crescendoing laugh emitted
by a self deprecating comedian
People only like the fat girl
if she’s funny

I am weighed down by the weight
of my own seeming inability
to do what’s best for my body
An inexplicable urge to stuff myself,
leaving no crumbs

Food is a reward
Food is non judgemental
Even if it evokes shame in the end

Food is constant
Food is unchanging
Processed ingredients and food dyes rarely shift
The consumer market is always there for me
Even if their motives are vile

I see myself as an elephant
The elephant in the room at all times
The elephant who everyone is watching
to see how many peanuts she shoves down her throat
The elephant that everyone eagerly watches the ring master torture
for the mere reward of peanuts
Dance, ‘phant, dance
No one is here to watch the elephant
to love it
They want to see if topple from atop its ball
The mistakes and shortcomings
are much more satisfying for the audience
Than the feelings of the elephant

If the elephant is doing well,
The show loses all its meaning.
And the audience
Is no longer interested.