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.