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I haven’t been kind to you lately.
Your bumps, lumps, knicks—where you’re thick.
Even where you’re small, it’s like I can’t see those parts at all.
You looked better before.
A reminder popped up on my phone.
She was slim, thin, toned—but she didn’t feel good in her bones.
It wasn’t enough for her then.
She looks to me now like she had the answers. She had the body.
She even had better hair. It’s just not fair.
I wish I could say I didn’t care. That I could enjoy this bagel, this treat, without regretting every. damn. thing. that I eat.
The world has changed.
So have I.
So why can’t I appreciate my bloated belly and tiger-striped thighs?
Why is it that still I can’t will myself to let go—to let it be?
After all, she is me.