I am the daughter of an almond mom
Of course I hate my body
My waist, my shape, my frame
I’d say I hate myself
But I do have much admiration for my intellect
I guess I kinda like my brain?
I am the daughter of an almond mom
When my hips came in
I was gifted a shirt
That fit like a lamp shade
Hide that odious figure
Until we figure out what to do with
A woman’s natural weight gain
I am the daughter of an almond mom
Be ashamed for taking up space,
Physically
Your thighs are half a couch cushion
I need you to push in
Cram into your prepubescent jeans from Justice
Where is my justice?
When will my body have peace?
I’m so aware of the meat skin I wear
This ostentatious mansion I reside in
Do most people walk in their own
And own it?
Feel comfortable walking in the home
That houses their soul?
All these flesh eating, soul sucking
Demolishing thoughts,
They simply forgo it?
I don’t.
And I don’t think I ever will
My jeans are against me
But I know the problem here must be me
Because my mom is slim
And her genes are within me
What if I don’t want to be a hot commodity?
One that screams “objectify me”
What if I’ve been ruined by both?
The male and female gaze?
This preposterous incessant competition
You’ve held me up against you in
It’s my whole life
How I’ve been raised
I don’t want to wear,
Fit into your same woes
Yet here I stand
Programmed
Repeating to myself
“You are made to fit the clothes”
Shopping is aggravated assault
Fabrics make me cry in dressing rooms
No worse insult or abuse
Than what the material religiously offers up
I am the daughter of an almond mom
I know I only matter
In matters of market, size, and lust
Constant endurance
This is a perpetual must
