When I was 5 I just knew, that I had a head and a body,
A head which was as most adults called me, “Cute”;
And a body which had many functions.
When I was 10 I realised there is a certain way, that my body needed to be:
The realisation came in the format of a bully;
Who convinced the entire class consisting of very many kids,
Of very many body types and shapes and weight,
That I was the fattest amongst them.
And then while I stood alone, with my homework in my chubby hands, in the circle surrounding me, calling me names,
I realised I was round — just like the circle.
When I was 15 I could only identify my body, with one body part — my fat. There were no arms, stomach or thighs — just fat.
I now had a relationship with my body only based on hate;
And till very many days,
From the toes to the top of my head, There was contempt. I was sly with my body: Feeding it junk because I thought, it was what it deserved. My body was not a temple but a grave, of very many lost ambitions; because of stereotypes that dictated what I could be. It was crime, it was assault And if it were not my own, I’d be in incarceration. In a way I was; And although I was in an open cage, I had no one tell me to come out and if it was alright. So when I was 18 I decided I’ll use my voice, the one thing in my body although cast off, felt my own, but needed to be worn aloud. And slowly, a revolution began - of love that was dictated to the self whether I liked it or not. It took some time, It took a toll even. But today whence I remember, I realise my biggest weapon. I’ve been a rollercoaster ride, from chubby to not to chubby to not. But what has remained constant - is a voice unshaken. So today I care - for the bits and bits, And the million cells. I care what I say to it, I care what I give to it, And I care for it because even when I looked at it with disdain - It cared for me with every fighting cell.