By Karen Secord
I’m feeling liberated. So I’m just going to do it. Dismiss the rules. Breathe in deeply. Seriously hold. Escape with the air.
My unrestricted so-self-absorbed ramblings follow.
Must, above all, be read out loud and upright.
While remembering the simplicity of ee cummings and James Joyce’s unbridled stream of consciousness.
Stay with me.
I make promises here.
21st century fat ism s
my fate was decided by a chart
body mass index canada food guide weight percentile graph
and a drop of blood
bmi 41 out of 100 women my age and height in the largest one percent
i stood out
but embraced by my padded me
i called it uniqueness when the shy eye retreated
embellished cushioned protected
a covered heart
where i eavesdrop lightly
my satisfying revelation
i can cross my legs
where i sit my newness
to fit the space
ive learned to like hot and herbal not caffeinated mumbo jumbo latte d
half a spelt cookie brazenly unchocolatey
my clothes slipped off for a man who professed fat is not flattering
i was galled
i told him to look closer
for the original me
there are hefty incongruities
can t he see them
the soft fluffiness of my casing
unpeeled rind resting jubilantly
let go of the pain
you’ll have more space than you will ever need
(Note: You can find Karen’s previous Food Fights posts in the Article Archive)