I can’t spend one more night waiting for a fat girl chaser.

You know,

Like a cold glass of milk to make you forget

How much chocolate you just ate,

Or someone saying curvy girls are real women,

Or hearing that Marilyn Monroe was a size 12 or something,

Just a follow up telling me I’m fine destroying myself.

I’m good eating a few more bites.

Secretly I’m dying for someone to call me on my shit.

                For someone to tell me

                I better not be thinking about eating another

                Goddamn Danish

                                That I better not text you again

                                Bringing up the past.

I’m waiting for someone to

Tell me to stop making everything up.

                To get real.

To tell me that I’m as shitty as I feel

Or else I’m just sitting here,

Letting the world hand me a glass of milk

Listening to the voice telling me

“You’re fine, dig in!”

But I feel like I’m going wrong,

Like I’m messing it all up.

It would be so much easier

If I had the milk tossed in my face,

Throwing me from my high horse

Just to figure out the ground was real.

                Because I’m killing myself trying to get out of the saddle alone.

                To put the spoon down

                To stop looking at the pictures

                To tell the truth

Can’t someone just tell me I’m fat?

That I’m mean, dumb, obsessed, unlovable, and annoying?

At least then I wouldn’t be crazy.