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Growing Up Skinny

Their words were shiny swords that when swung at just the right angle knocked me to the cold hard floor.
I threw up my hands and tilted my head to the ceiling as though god and the angels would burst through the ceiling and tell me I’m beautiful.
They didn’t.

I was being melodramatic this I understand.
Middle school is supposed to suck right.

I weighed 70 pounds,
Like if I stepped on your foot you wouldn’t wince in agony,
You wouldn't even feel it,
But boy did I want them to feel it.

This girl named Sarah grabbed my wrist and yelled;
“Look at Bri’s wrist it’s so tiny, look at it!”
I suppose it could’ve been a compliment, but I felt like the freak show they put on side roads where people gathered around me putting their sticky sweaty palms around the perimeter of my wrist.

And what about my 6th grade teacher that couldn’t hold onto her tongue as she told me I should eat another pizza - because that’s all I needed right.
Little did she know i’d already had one that day and for her information I would keep eating them and they wouldn’t help me to gain weight - trust me I’ve tried.

I walked knobby kneed into school the next year and looked at all the other girls new clothes, the same clothes I was trying on - the same clothes that hugged everyone else in all the right places but refused to love me.

I hated looking at pictures of my limbs moving spastically on the field how the other girls made me feel like crap for fitting into the blue uniform that had rejected their waist.
Where people will ask - Wait Bri how much do you weigh?
How the center of attention immediately shifts over to me after the words have snuck from their lips , the beady eyes that stare anticipating my response.
How my two digit answer makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed.
How my reply gets the sympathetic response of “awe your so cute” the phrase that would be told to a 3 year old girl in a little dress and bow on her head.

I don’t cry about it now - I’m 90 pounds on a good day and I don’t cry.
But when I look down at my hips I feel like that 6th grade girl again watching them jut out of my body like glass shards, like the blades of a scissor - like angel wings.






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