I,
thought they said I would be
beautiful,
all those advertisements,
instructions
on how to lose weight.

They lied to me,
it isn’t working.
I can still see the fat bubbling
between my thighs,
and the cellulite clustering
across my stomach.

I thought if I skipped those meals
they would add up into something worth looking at--
still, I always has those
stubborn extra pounds to melt,
even now.

It wasn’t fast, but
gradual,
no double fudge brownies
my mom made on Sundays,
and then,
rejecting my favorite
macaroni and ketchup lunches.
Those model-thin girls in the magazines
cheered me on.

Then it felt like possession,
voices shrieking no
everyday of my life.
All those glossy pretty pages
hissed the consequences of that
chocolate ice cream,
and fried chicken from
the fast food restaurant.
They said they would help me
become beautiful.
But they tricked me and
now they own me.

From the reflecting glass--
waxy paper skin,
a sunken stomach,
stick-thin legs,
a balding scalp and
protruding ribs--
but still so so fat,
because it is never enough
for them
or me.