Our mothers were the ones fat-shaming us.
You call it a harmless remark, a useful advice
But I wonder if you really knew how many scars are lacerated and bleeding again
You call us beautiful and say not to worry
But then your tongue slips between the words of weight, fat and diet
You want us to live our best lives, be somebody
But how can we, when we’re already dead inside?
But how can we, when we’re already dead inside? But even if we aren’t, we’d spend our days barely living wondering if we’re good enough.
You warned us against these monsters lurking around, ready to pounce at our bodies.
The nightmares were really the monsters live in our own houses,
The nightmares were really the monsters live in our own houses, in our heads
Till we look down and think, were we ever good enough? Beautiful enough? Tall enough? Thin enough?