Dear store employee,

Just because I didn’t fit doesn’t give you the right to tell me I look bad in it without me asking for your opinion.

I can clearly see how the lines of my granny Panties are screaming for attention as they are already shielding as much skin as possible to avoid shame.

How the rolls begin to pour out of the top and bulk in the middle, trying desperately to escape the fragile frame it thunderously rests upon.

How I could have guessed I was not an XS, but it doesn’t stop my hopeful mind from compressing all that is on the outside into what is unseen on the inside, the same way my emotions live.

And maybe I didn’t want to know,

Didn’t want to know how my body has morphed into a monster I cannot stand to see, sculpted into an unrecognizable frame

A creature wrong and misplaced but yet desperate to belong once again.
Or was belonging a figment of imagination long before.

For one time I was seen wearing skinny jeans size XXS, holding seams together to keep denim and bone glued, tight shirts to show hard work in the form of ribs, hair braided to look full instead of thin, falling clump by clump down the drain with my future.

But now I am the enemy I have always feared.

Ones who’s heavy build can no longer squeeeeeeze into the old me, multiplied by 2.

Dear store employee,
Yes, I am aware this sculpture does not fit into your mold you call a skirt, I was trying to transform

Photo by Lauren Fleischmann on Unsplash