P-H-A-T

October 27, 2011
By Poetic_License GOLD, Hendersonville, North Carolina
Poetic_License GOLD, Hendersonville, North Carolina
12 articles 7 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
I am a raven. I am a crow. I am a nappy bat. I am a mosquito. Call me anything black that has wings and flies.
~Glenis Redmond


According to the World Health Organization, a good percentage of the obesity rate
Is put solely on the weary shoulders of Native and rural African Americans.
Which is a fancy way of saying America is fat, so we’ll go ahead and blame the Indians and Blacks.
And this specific statistic pissed me off, because it was just another way
To put people like me under the microscope.
An incentive for playground bullies to point their fingers and spit cruel names.
It simply says if you’re happy with the way you are; change that, because We disapprove.
That’s exactly why the stick-thin models may see me and whisper
“Look! Look at the dimples in her thighs,” as they roll their eyes.
“Look at the chubbiness of her hands, and the way she stands so proudly! She should be ashamed.”
And guess who my insecurities credited with blame…me, because I listened.
Never to the praises and the good people saw in me, but the negatives.
They positively sucked the confidence out of my bones and left me there to die.
And I hung dry with my head bowed low for seven freaking years until one day
My mother lifted my chin with an elegant hand and told me to look up.
Look at the beauty this world has blessed us with and return the favor by letting the world see you.
See you. The real you.
The miracle baby that God gave me.
The beautiful intellectual being that I get to call my daughter.
Hold your head up!
And for the first time in my life, I listened.
I listened real well.
And I learned.
I learned a hell of a lot.
And now? Now every step I take has a whole new meaning.
Every move I make has an air of purpose.
Society, please excuse the fact that my booty wiggles when I walk.
My breasts jiggle when I jog.
It’s a God-given talent to be thick, even though you’d consider it a curse.
Was it not you who threw us the scraps of the pig and the chicken and made us work with what we had?
How dare you insult my cultures diet till this day?
Was it not you who took and raped the women of my ancestry for the voluptuousness of our bodies?
I know I’d rather sit around eating candied yams and collard greens
Cornbread and fried chicken
Sweet potato pie and lemon pound cake
Then starving myself on a one-carrot-a-day diet.
I would much rather look upon myself in the mirror knowing my soul has been fed and feeling good,
Than picking out my imperfections and feeling empty hollow void…

All I know is, when it comes down to it,
The best and worst thing you could do is call me fat.
What could I possibly say to that?
I would agree and simply spell it differently.
P-H-A-T baby, that’s just me.

And America,
I would advise you
And your statistics
To deal with that


The author's comments:
I came up with this poem after reading the first few pages of my first college course, which was a course on health and fitness. I got mad at the statistics and how they phrased their insulting assumptions, so I wrote out my anger.

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