Mycah Miller

Fat Girl Galaxy, or A Poem In Which the Fat Girl is an Erasure of the Previous Part

After “Blackout” by Zach Goldberg

1.

I used to watercolor my thighs, in high school,

paint galaxies with bloody edges like if you tore

into me, all you’d find was brightness – stretched

belly stars mark my bones and ligaments. Every

mouth I’ve owned is open wide, convincing myself of

belonging. “Big” must be my favorite word, to use

it so often and to believe it. Every waistband is a joke. Every

belt I own has broken, I mend it again and take pity

when I must cut it down to fix it. I share a bottle of wine with

my grandmother, long past, in a dream. We guess

which resembles us more: the thick glass or the blood that wills us

to chase ourselves down its throat. Once, I received a text

instructing me to join “overeaters anonymous;” still, fat

in public is a statement everyone else chooses

to make of me. A pound lost is a pound congratulated, praise

becomes a fear when it is confirmation of the invalidity of

my empyrean. Fat body is sun only when sunburn, is allowed

celestial standards only if too much.

2.

my thighs paint with bloody edges, if you tore

into me, all you’d find was stretched

belly bones and every mouth open wide.

belonging big must be to believe every joke, every

belt. I mend pity when I must, share a bottle of wine with

my dream which resembles more thick blood will to chase

ourselves down. Once, I received a text to join

“overeaters anonymous;” fat in public is a statement one chooses

to celebrate, praise is confirmation of the validity of

my empyrean. Fat body is sun, is allowed

celestial standards.

3.

my thighs bloody, if you tore into me, you’d find

stretched belly and mouth open wide.

big must be to believe every pity when I must, share

wine thick will to chase down a statement chose

to praise. of empyrean, fat body is sun, is

celestial standards.

4.

if you tore into me, you’d find

mouth open to pity praise. empyrean, fat body is

celestial.