Fat Heart

the beauty of a woman

Fat hearts are anything but normal.  They don’t deserve to exist in peace with themselves.  They must be constantly reminded of their fatness and must change it as soon as possible.  They don’t deserve to be seen.  They offend the eyes.  They don’t deserve to be loved or treasured.  They must understand that their more makes them less.  They must understand that no matter what they are, it is lessened by their fatness.  No love they deserve!  How dare they have self-esteem!  How dare they be comfortable with who they are until they become a smaller them.  They must always live on the edge of happiness because fat and happy dare not exist on the same plane.  How dare they be admired, loved, cherished, and accepted!  It promotes unhealthiness.  They should never be 100% anything unless it includes being less fat.  They must hold their breath forever, waiting to be whole until they weigh less, even until death.

Diamond Out of Concrete

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When you are a woman with health issues, love becomes just another stress in your life.  Men are visual creatures and imperfections lessens a woman’s beauty.  We get judged from hair to feet including the color of the skin we are wrapped in.  So many physical things can stop a man from trying to even just know you.  Stretch marks, a belly, flat ass, big waist, a wide back, moles, not so smooth skin, cellulite, scars….  Having an autoimmune disorder is like having a scar on the inside.  Actually, more of a wound that doesn’t heal.  It doesn’t just affect your body, it affects your mind too.  It makes you feel weak, worthless, and worn out.  For a man to love you through that is a beautiful thing indeed.

You see, a man that is willing to love a woman with health issues is the real hero here, the real warrior.  He has to be strength for two.  He does things that other men would only do for their mothers.  He is a protector and provider tenfold.  He is a man of patience, understanding, maturity, and compassion.  To the ladies who have that, a man to love you through all your flaws and even the mountain that health issues can be in your life; issues that even questions the love you have for yourself; a man that love you with all the normal imperfections that women have plus your health issues…. Cherish him.  Love him.  Be totally grateful and appreciative of him, because you mined a diamond out of concrete….

Colorblind

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Colorblind

I love lovely people.  People who are smart, caring, understanding, compassionate, generous, unselfish, friendly, and kind.  It doesn’t matter how much money they have, what color that are, or where they live.  I see them for the individual that they are.  I can’t stand a true asshole.  However, I have a soft spot for assholes; the kind that play dirty because they are really sensitive and act like assholes to put up a wall around their emotions.   True ignorant assholes come in all forms, shapes, and colors.

I grew up in a small town, a rural area that is extremely racially segregated.  In 2014, it still is that way.  I have lived and visited many places where it is not so segregated.  I have had friends from all different types of racial and cultural backgrounds.  I think it is amazing that there is still this huge cultural gulf between black and white people.  I think it is because we don’t attempt to really understand each other’s cultures and it sets the stage for negative stereotypes to form.  I think prejudice is a natural human reaction in humans weather it is race, religion, beauty, or any other likewise category.  Most of us are intelligent enough not to play out our prejudices in racist ways.

I really hate this colorblind society that is being created and being sold as a so-called post racial society.  I hate when people claim they “don’t see color”!  Why the hell not?!  We are two different colors and two different cultures and they are different.  Why can’t we celebrate those differences?  Why can’t we stop attaching negative attributes to skin color?  I have female friends who are white.  They are beautiful women who are smart, funny, dynamic, good mothers, fun to be around, and I like them for who they are.  Saying they are white is merely a physical characteristic, not a summation of what they are, just what they look like.  If someone asked me about one of them, I can’t just say, “She is white” and you will know everything there is to know about her.  I have female friends who are black.  They are beautiful as well.  I can’t sum up who they are by merely stating their skin colors either.  That is why being colorblind and saying you don’t see color is bad.  I want you to see me.  All of me.  I want to see all of you too.  Yeah, I get mistaken for a white woman on the telephone and my old co-worker from Disney World named Kesha often shock people when she shows up and she’s a white girl.  Being white doesn’t automatically make one racist and being black doesn’t automatically absolve one from not being racist.

In America, the “white race” and “black race” are social constructs.  A list of stereotypes, usually perpetuated by the media, politics, selective hearing, racially motivated Catch-22s, self-fulfilling prophecies, and willful ignorance.  Sometimes I wonder will these divides last forever.  It seems that we take two steps forward then one step back.  I think that true America, people who have dreams of America actually being what she claims to be; a beautiful melting pot of races and cultures instead of oil and water in the same bowl, are sick of the racial divide in the country.  I know I am.

Looking at Myself in a Dirty Mirror

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I lie to no one like I lie to myself.  I put on a smile mask over my grimace of pain and keep telling myself I will be ok as I feel myself slowing dying.  Looking at myself in this dirty mirror adding artificial to make my natural “beautiful”…

I smile at all this fake shit on my body and when I take it off I feel…like I am better with the fake shit than I am with my natural shit.  You can’t tell me to be myself when you tell me I am beautiful with the fake shit and walk by me in my natural.

I walk by me in my natural.  Looking at myself in this dirty mirror wishing I could change it.  Wishing the scars will disappear.  Hating them.  These anchors all over my body, holding my body.  You make me feel like I need this fake shit.

She has the face of an angel, the body of a demon.  She needs an exorcism but there is no priest.  Just doctors with knives… they want her to pay them to cut her.   She has no money so they put away their knives.  She hides her demon with pretty clothes and adds the fake shit to her face.  She smile in the dirty mirror as the tears run behind her eyes, too ashamed to run down her face.

Her beauty is inside of her, bursting at the seams but to afraid to come out because it won’t look like the beauty you like, or he like, or she like…  I look in this dirty mirror because she is me and I am ashamed of her.

Not afraid to love but afraid I won’t be loved back.  God loves me that is a fact, so why does this world matter so much?  Because I allowed the world to speak to me more than I allowed God to.  So I look in this dirty mirror and I say, one day, it will all go away.

To my friend whom I am now reminded why I love him.  You made me tell the truth, JB.