When I was eight,I

When I was eight,

I ate fourteen times a day.

Whatever I wanted, because

I wanted it.

Because food

was my friend.

When I turned thirteen, 

food became to me,

what Goliath had been to David.

A lumbering,

looming,

livid,

threat.

And though my waist shrank,

the way that the pretty girls' waists did,

I was larger than ever,

in my own head.

When I turned seventeen,

I decided that I was too strong

to let my life be goverened by bones.

I decided that thin

lithe

graceful

delicate

were for people who were born that way. 

I am eighteen years old.

And I eat fourteen times a day.

whatever I want.

Because

I want it.

I was blessed with legs like 

tree trunks,

powerful enough to take 

wherever I want to go.

I was blessed with arms of Atlas

strong enough to support 

everyone that I love.

I was blessed with soft hips,

curves to combat the hills of Italy.

You are in the right place right now,

in your own skin.

As am

I.

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