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.
Tag Archives: beauty
Looking at Myself in a Dirty Mirror
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.

