Why I Cry
I used to diet by eating one Reeses and a slice of pizza
BOOM! I was a waif and always running late.
Now, I see skinny women of a certain age and think…
“They must smoke.” This is not a joke. I can look at a
a pack of Oreos and my ass fat quadruples. Oreos are
unscrupulous little wafers of hate.
Things…certain things…now jiggle instead
of lift and bounce, and I ain’t talkin’ about
my ears. I could blame it on the years, but that’s like
listening for singular voice in a canyon of echoes.
I now have to buy jeans from a section for “curvy,”
Is that like being big boned? I used to check my
Bone-ed-ness with fingers around my wrist. How can I
check my curves? By looking at my thighs and that space
in between. Mind the gap they say, except ain’t nobody
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