is being the elephant in the room.
Some will always bear you ill will
and begrudge you any room or
All your padding will never protect you.
Words and fists find their mark.
Your condition labeled a disgrace.
And a lack of character.
The angry soup in your stomach is building...
an anger that eats. Each morning it repeats.
And demands you as its focus.
Self-loathing its locus.
Plenty of childhood violence
on the schoolyard and in my bedroom at night.
Some days, I'd get lucky and I'd start the fight.
Get the first punch in.
I'd make it a rainmaker, the kind that produced tears.
Temporarily displacing the other person's confidence.
Temporarily allaying my fears
But there was always another day, another alley way
to navigate. There always is.
And fat doesn't melt or go away,
even when you 'grow up.'
It stays there stuck
(in the space between your ears.)
It moves malevolently in your dreams.
Even when you have a 22 inch waist.
Memories take on a life of their own.
Nipping at your heels. Bobbing in your mind.
Why do beings take pleasure in being unkind?
Does it take the momentary spotlight off of them?
Make them rise on the teeter totter of comparison?
They don't act nor think like me.
I would like to know what it would be like to be free
of all of them.
No, of their idea of me.
No, of my idea of myself.
Its best to leave the Toxic and their pain
far behind. Rinse out the bitter flavor.
Delete from memory banks,
til gone the angst,
Copyright July 6th, 2012 All Rights Are Reserved By this Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
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