My size ten jeans fit well on my frame,
Okay, so I'm no longer size two.
My belly's pooch is very slight,
bearly a memory of where children once grew.
Every day at the gym for an hour or more
I work on my total "well being".
My body's firm and my heart is strong;
I shouln't care what they'll be seeing.
Despite this truth, this healthful view,
I am trapped behind a tripple locked door.
No matter how healthy my body and soul,
my thoughts run forever unsure.
Gone are the days of starving myself
a sickness I've beaten but can never kill.
My self esteem is just strong enough
to deny this urge to test my own will.
Yet, why must I go though the rest of my life
only half sure of all that is real.
My body image is a hazy half truth.
that remembers when I could not feel.
Caught like the hunted in a healthy/fat world
cast forever in the fiction of image's truth.
Will I deny for my life the goodness of me
in attempt to ease further the pain of my youth?
Grant that I may not judge my niegbor until I have walked a mile in his moccasians
Native American prayer
[This message has been edited by christies heart (edited 03-18-2000).]