FAT

When I was a little girl, I was worried that people would think I was pregnant.

It felt as though my stomach were the size of the moon

and my body was the vast expanse that held it in place

and no matter how many times the sun came up I could still see it s i t t i n g there,

h

a

n

g

i

n

g

there,

its craters more prominent in the light.

I was scared of two piece swimsuits

and worried that the plastic doll lying in the cradle was actually mine

but now that I know what sex is I wonder if a man will ever look into space

and if I hold the lunar light will an astronaut even want to know what I feel like

or will I always be alone at midnight,

waiting for the sun to show me all that I am missing

and if I am the universe it is stars that I’ll be kissing

for who ever looks at the moon, insisting that someone goes back?

I know now that I’m not pregnant, but maybe if there were a child inside of me

I’d have an excuse for feeling this way

but I do not.

All that i’ve got is the way my stomach bulges, blocking the warmth from the sun.