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2010-11-21 / 1:09 a.m. I never explained it. I can't. I want to. I sit looking at this small white box with the blinking cursor and I listen to sad songs and I try to articulate what it was and what it is but I can't. FAT. That was it. End of the line. End of story. No matter what way you put it. Eloquent or ignorant. I try to explain it but I don't even remember it. I feel it. I know the way it feels now and a fraction of how it felt then. Adults. Fucking fully grown adults who should've known better. Who should know better now. I was a target, and fully grown fucking adults pushed it too. I was punched. I was kicked. I was pummeled and I felt it. I fucking feel it still, you fucks. I was beat down in every way, shape and form and I can't begin to explain it to my best friends because I don't know how. I don't know why I'm so hurt, I don't even remember. It's an aura from being four years old and having a thirty year old woman pack stones inside a snowball and throw it at me with all her might. It's me coming home when I'm twenty-one years old and crying because I feel it to my core. After twenty-one years, I get it. You know? I finally fucking get it. I am not good enough and I will never be good enough because I was fat and because I am fat and even if I weigh seventy pounds, I will always be fat because they told me and they showed me and I am beaten down and I hurt and there is no other way. I will always be this girl because there is no fucking other way. |