I speak for every female ever fat
in mind or mood or belly, butt or thighs.
Presumptuous pronouncements are my chat
and this apparent fitness my disguise.
For I am fat in memory and fears
beneath the slender shape I work to be,
and I remember all those heavy years
when I felt thinner than the truth of me.

I speak for every look at form and face
we give ourselves, reality or role,
and echo to the self of granted grace
that overrides the myth of self-control.
But most of all, I open mouth to tell
the awful loneliness of feeling well.