Love Song for Fat
“Body acceptance means, as much as possible, approving of and loving your body, despite its “imperfections,” real or perceived. ”
A few years ago, while taking a poetry class, someone introduced me to podslam.org. This website had several poetry slams about sexuality, relationships, family, etc. One of the ones that hit me the hardest was a piece called “Incisors” by JM Huscher.
After watching this video over and over again, I started to realize that there wasn’t one body part I could write a love poem for — I hated all of them because they were covered in fat. So, instead of writing a love poem for my parts, as the poetry slam instructed, I wrote a love song for fat. Here it is:
Love song for fat
273…320…385
Fat is my worst enemy and
my constant companion.
I’ve had friends who have been there when I was thin
left when I wasn’t
but she will never leave me.
Soft ripples of dimpled flesh
stretch marked over my soul
I have blamed her for all the wrongs in my life:
Fat is the reason I have no husband.
Fat is the reason I have a nowhere job.
Fat is the reason I have no money.
When really my husband left because he had his own issues to work out.
When really my job is great, but I am uncomfortable in front of people.
When really I have money, but instead of investing in stocks and bonds, I invest in burgers and fries.
Someone once said to write a love song for the body part I hate the most.
I couldn’t choose just one — I hated them all.
I chose, instead, to write a love song to fat;
the girl who had taken over every part.
She rolls down my body,
wrapping me in warm comfort
while poking out from under straining cotton shirts,
but she’s there for me.
She doesn’t say, “Oh, you have a pretty face, but…”
I’ve heard that more times than I can count.
You have a great smile.
You have a great personality.
You have such pretty eyes.
You have gorgeous hair.
People try to act as though I don’t exist from the neck down.
But I do. I have a heart, a body, and a soul stuck within the pockets of skin that have a stranglehold on my senses, and theirs.
She doesn’t judge me.
She does, however, keep me running from cameras, knowing that pictures just pack on the pounds.
She does, however, keep me second guessing lovers. I mean, what would a man see in me?
She does, however, keep me at a distance from the world, a safety net like a child on a leash:
“Don’t go too far…you’ll get hurt.”
She will never leave me.
Fat is part of my life, one way or another.
I don’t always like what she does, but I have learned to love her.
I will never have a perfect body. I’ve learned not to waste my time on that.
Instead, I am working on the perfect mind.
Instead, I am working on the perfect heart.
Instead, I am working on the perfect soul.
I know that if I do that, eventually, she will begin fade and I will be able to see something besides her.
I will be able to see me.
