You look at me across the car,

In the passenger seat,

Filling out deposits and withdraws,

In’s and out’s of the system,

Counting out loud the hard-earned cash to be wasted on impractical things.

A new bikini, I say.

Your eyes shoot daggers.

They bounce off of me,

Skin as thick as chain mail,

Tried and tested and true,

I am forged from the fire of revolution.

I am fabricated from callous words,

Unyielding to your impudent arrogance.

No, you state.

No two pieces.

I smile, questioning your authority with a glimmer in my eye.

I will not bend.

I have been pushed and prodded,

Verbally assaulted,

Shoved down and blacklisted

Because, I

Am not a single digit.

I

Am not a piece of flesh stretched tight across a frame

So fragile it’s nearly transparent

So wispy the wind knocks it down.

I am not a hundred pounds thick.

I am not conventional.

I am not the typical bikini girl,

And, I am not a push over any longer.

I am a metamorphosis of society,

An upheaval of the conventional,

Anarchy of the anorexic system pushing you to your knees,

Obligating you to bend over

To take the social norms

Accept the status quo.