Sanctuary

I wonder what people look for when they look for

The fat poems I talk about in my episode–

I ask because like, well,

All the ones I listed get hits so I wonder

If ya’ll look for other ones as well–

Poems about my mounds or my lumps or

Whatever the hell else. I will say

I have lived in a fat body

My whole life. I have found it hell and home and

I find everything about myself to be beautiful. It is

Alarming and disgusting and disturbing to meet people

Who have such virulent disdain for my fat, my face, and my body.

We have been through so much together, you see

I will always love my body more than

Anyone else could and

The only parts of my life and my perspective that I am ashamed of

Are the ones where I let myself take the abuse in

The ones where I wonder why

Some people are more ashamed of me

And my body

Than I am.

That is something I’ve often wondered.

Sometimes I meet people in public who see my body

And treat is as a warning sign, a crisis in plain sight

A garbage can overflowing until the surrounding area

Becomes a garbage area. I do not, have not, and have never

Been a garbage area. I am a clean, well-kept person

I always smell good and my clothes are always laundered

I have what some people might call a functioning depression alas

I am also just busy, with hobbies, always always always doing something

If I wasn’t doing something, I’d be lazy, and then

The bullies would be right, alas I have

Mounds of evidence against them, that they always claim

Are mounds of evidence against my own claims. I don’t want to participate

In a conversation in the same language where I am being translated.

Who could speak in such a circumstance.

I often wonder if I was mute as a kid or if

I just got fed up so fast I never felt the need to speak.

Writing, is a sanctuary, much like a temple of sound I am

Myself here, easily.