Like an okro stick,
My neck elongated itself.
Making my whole body which is not even a whole, But bones blown by the wind here and there—dance like a hanged criminal.
You're too skinny, don't you eat?
How can you finish that bowl of rice?
Where does everything you consume go?
We wonder why you're not adding up after all these years?
These questions became jabs in-between my empty Ribs.
They make me want to clothe my form with the longest sleeves,
That covers even my tiniest fingers.
With self awareness, I carefully walk passed eyeballs Scrutinizing my bony structure.
Years have gone by, and I'm almost unrecognizable.
They call it "chubby", "fat".
Those who don't want to offend, cry out "You're big O!"
How come? you've added __gan O!_
With amazement on their faces
—A reaction meant to embarrass the addressed.
They speculate and criticize my form like it's a major Problem to be looked into.
All the while, their gaze moving side ways,
As if I occupied more than the Earth's surface.
They will give beauty different names, sizes and Heights.
But, humans are not shape shifters.
I can't simply wave magical wands to suit everyone's desired figure.
You're skinny, you're fat,
You're short, you're tall,
You're white, you're black.
The MOST important thing is YOU'RE BUILT UNIQUE
photosource: Pinterest
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