I thought it would change as the years went by
And that I would learn to ignore it, and just have fun instead.
After all, time would progress and we would have to get more serious.
It wouldn't be fun and games anymore, playing with our baby dolls,
Life would eventually become a chore.
But inside of my screaming bones, I could feel the tremor,
Of insecurities from the time I was in fourth grade.
My calf muscles seemed to be a bit thicker, and my stomach
Would roll over the plaid skirted uniform I wore to school each day.
My breasts seemed to get bigger quicker, and suddenly I had to wear
These uncomfortable barricades over them. And when we changed
For gym class, I often times wished I could go to the bathroom so
That I didn't have to show my thicker legs and rolls of tummy.
As a fourth grader.
And I ate healthy so I didn't exactly understand why I didn't look
Like a doll, even though daddy called me one. I couldn't fathom
Picking out sizes that weren't in the "children" section of stores.
So when mommy packed my lunch, I ate slow, just like she told me to.
And daddy kept telling me how young I was, how my single digits
Were just a small mark on what I would grow into. That somehow,
Someday the fat would go away, and I would look like all the other
Pretty girls. But then I started to realize that it wasn't just my body
That needed change, but my oddly proportioned face, with its small
Lips and how the size of my eyes were slowly creating a force that
Seemed to be separating me from my friends as the years rolled by.
That there was a distance being created between my loathing of my
Own body and the spirit I was desperately trying to kill it with so that
I could enjoy those moments with my friends of running around
And playing with boys' feelings, instead of thinking
Over and over and over again that
Because I am me,
And one day,
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.