it took me 40 years to learn
that my body is not my enemy
but my oldest, longest-suffering friend,
that my being fat doesn’t mean
I don’t deserve love or am
any less beautiful, that
when you love someone,
when their soul speaks to yours
and you can see it clearly,
unclouded by your own doubts and fears,
the vessel they are currently incarnating
becomes sanctified by its beauty –
like a candle holder,
illuminated from within – that
my body is always worthy of love
because I’m in it.

I didn’t learn that by myself,
many people taught me these things;
I first learned to love myself
by seeing myself through the eyes
of those that loved me,
and I’m still learning these lessons,
still on the path.

I understand.
you aren’t there yet.

I wish I could be the one to teach you,
but even if you can’t/won’t let me –
because my body reminds you too painfully
of your own abundance, because
the idea of us together
probably makes you feel sick,
because the only way
you can imagine yourself
as sexually viable
is if a thin person wants you,
because the idea that I could be fat
and still be attractive
is scarily close to
the same being true
for you –
it’s all right.
I hope someday you get there.
you deserve to be free
of body hate, too.
we all do.

the weight you need to shed
is not measured in pounds of flesh
but in the self-hatred
you’ve been carrying
your entire life.
let that burden go.
put it down, take it off, release it.
you don’t need it.

I’ll be waiting for you
at the pass on the top of this
mountain of self-respect.
the air is thin up here,
but we don’t have to be.
it’s very clear, heady, transcendent.
I can see for miles
and we don’t need our baggage
where we’re going.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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