More Poetry

As I grew older and older,

and more candles are added to my cake

I knew things I had never known before.

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When I was 11, I knew how to diet

because my friends mum told me to try it.

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When I was 12, I knew my thighs shouldn’t touch

but mine did, which meant that I ate too much.

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When I was 13, I knew how to stuff my bra to give me bigger boobs,

because that’s what the boys talked about when they saw a girl’s nudes.

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When I was 15, I knew I was terrified of carbs

so instead of school macaroni cheese I chose to starve.

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When I was 16, I knew to wear a one piece and not a bikini

because I would have died if someone from class had seen me,

had seen my tummy.

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When I was 17, I knew it was my fault for binging,

so, I had no right to be whinging,

I just couldn’t stop.

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When I was 18, I knew I was familiar with the taste of hunger,

it was something I had tried when I was much much younger,

I never liked the taste.

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When I was 20, I knew that the damage was done,

and learning to “love myself” was just never going to come.

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And when I turned 21, I knew I was wasting my best years sat in tears

over my skin suit that should mean nothing to me

but somehow means everything.

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And when I turn 50, I know I’ll hate myself for putting my own happiness on the shelf

For a slimmer waist or refusing to taste

all the food that the world has to offer in fear someone would label me a scoffer.

But I promise you one thing if by the time I am 50 and I have a daughter

I will never allow her to feel the way that I did.

Food will be fuel, and her tummy always full

and her head full of love that she is enough

She won’t waste time worrying about her waist

She’ll know just how good double chocolate chip cookies taste.

The numbers on the scale will mean nothing to her because they won’t exist

I will never allow her to hate herself the way that I did.