You say that big is beautiful
That it's the new 'in thing'
You talk about how nice I'd look
If only I weren't thin
But will you come to realise
That it really isn't right
To say that we're not big enough
And take our name in spite?
You may have gotten insults
From some idiotic men
But when you call us skin and bones
You're just as bad as them
To say that big is beautiful
Is fine and true to say
To say that big is better
Is to think a hateful way
Nothing's better, nothing's 'right'
We're built to look unique
To say we're pretty, big and skinny
That's the peace I seek
It's easier to get along
When we're not starting fights
The alarm clock tells you loud and clear
It's time to get your act together, dear
So force yourself to get out of bed
Forget what all those people said
Now's the time to change your routine
Of spending all day with the laptop screen
It's time to dress up like you used to
It's time to be the brand new you
So wipe all those silly tears away
Because we're living for today
The past is long gone, it's time for change
So dress how you want, no matter how strange
And wear whatever makeup you want
You're brave enough to do what the haters can't
As long as it makes you feel good about yourself
Then what is it to do with anyone else?
Sh
Hey look, there she is.
Her hair is always a new colour and she wears hats to shade her face. Her piercings just keep increasing.
You see she's tough.
She smokes and drinks and stays out all night. I even heard she sleeps around.
And those clothes, can you believe it?
But she gets away with it, because she's tough.
I heard she even knocked out one of the teachers. Have you seen the bruises? She doesn't bother to cover them up.
But it's because she fights every night, because she's tough.
Right?
I mean, it wouldn't be the other option would it?
It wouldn't be that really her appearance is battle gear? She wouldn't be doing it to keep
Look at yourself.
Just look at yourself.
Look at your matted, tangled, dishwater-colored hair, the hidden bald spot in front where hair doesn’t grow over scar tissue. Look at the cropping of pimples across your wide, flat face. Look at your pasty, blotchy skin. Look at your eyes too small and your ears too big, your teeth tinted and translucent from throwing up.
Look at your arms too soft and thick, your hands too broad, your fingers chubby and short. Look at your belly, sticking out farther than your nonexistent chest. Look at your hips, far too wide; your butt, an entity all to itself. Look at your gargantuan thighs, your knock-kne