90 Pounds

April 15, 2011
I don't remember the last time I looked into my mirror and wasn't disgusted
I don't remember how many girls I've looked at in absolute envy
I don't remember how many times those same girls looked right through me.
I don't remember the number of nights I spent in the bathroom
In the bathroom, over the toilet, and watching the calm water and waiting to see my meals again.
I don't remember how many times I've counted those rolls of fat on my side or stared horrified at my colossal thighs.
I don't remember the number of tears I shed each time I spy my reflection in hallway windows
I don't remember each time I weigh myself, anymore.
I only remember the numbers spinning too long to a weight too high
I don't remember back in my childhood, when weight was a quickly-forgotten number,
when my classmates judged only my personality and number of Crayons I can share,
when I could eat, when I was free.
I don't remember anyone calling me pretty
and I don't remember any boy loving someone who looks like me.
I don't remember my mom's words or her concerned face or her constant pleas.
I don't remember compliments that weren't forced through sympathetic lips.
I only remember a number, only one number
my goal and my dream:

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