Defining the Line

Lunch and that Cafeteria food.

But I,

Have a brown bag a miracle bag…with cookies.

    Lard-based cookies that

I don’t particularly like.

   I open that packet,

The rustle of calories

Building on my butt, breasts, body.

 

    I am nine years old.

 

Impressionable and overemotional

As so unused to

Defending myself, the youngest of three

Lowest of the food chain, I never had to

Deal with sisterly abuse,

 

My mom took care of that.

 

Shut doors, avoidance

Took care of that.

 

So the whisper hit hard-

that slimy almost preteen who voiced

“No wonder she’s so fat.”

 

Shock, the awe-factor

The I-can’t-believe-he-would-say-that-in-front-of-me

Factor

I wonder what they say when I’m gone…

 

Blood quickly drains and leaves face pale

And then the flush comes,

Turing cheeks, nose, forehead a bright red.

 

Then comes the recovery, the instant damage control complete with

An urgent bathroom run – yes, this is an emergency.

I spit, sputter Oreo lard, the graininess in my mouth

Now a sickening plop in the

Toilet I think I’m going to be sick.

 

Not the first time. Not the last.

 

The day moves on as if nothing happened as feet find their path

Bus, home homework, dinner-
No dessert.

 

Anger. I fear it hate it but it

Rushes at me and still, somehow

I only react as people expect, tears, whines, or

Silence.

 

Years later and

my doctor says I am perfect in my roundness

And I can’t…I won’t…

Trust is hard to rebuild.

 

Then the truth comes softly and painfully when

Skinny girls sporting various hues

say with encouragement

 

“daaaaammmn” whenever I am

Brave enough to flash a bit of skin.

 

 

So forget you and your opinions, no one is listening

Your words can’t limit me anymore – I’m drawing the line.

So screw it so well that your bubble world goes limp

And moldable and your mind fogs to distant.

 

Not afraid, huh?

Not so meek anymore,

I shave my grudging outrage years after

This clay mold hardens,

Unfortunately still polite, mild and very solid.

 

And soon, anger isn’t so unreasonable,

illegal.

 

I might have a breast reduction before I’m twenty-five and I

Might prefer to drink OJ with pizza rather than soda, and

Maybe when I was little I swallowed a few too many

Ego-inflated pills

In the form of comments, favors, and abuses…

 

But if I cut my wrist and you cut yours

We will both die bleeding the same shade of red, and

I bet,

I bet that my overemotional and defined blood will

Stain longer,

Run stronger

And die faster than yours, quiet without complaint

No loose ends scrambling to clutch me to this earth.

 

I will find freedom in the fact

That my existence was defined by no one, nothing but me.

Reviews

[Kevin Andros]

It seems that you have trying to portray a realistic picture out of a normal person's life. Being the youngest in the family, being pampered, overfed, weight consicous, etc.

But what makes this so special about this 'normal' write is that the usage of strong words! You got a strong vocabulary and that's made the poem so special. Nice.

I can almost see you shouting 'Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnn'.

~KA~

[Alex J. Griffin]

I can hear you reading it! lol :D

[Jenny Davis]

I think this is FANTASTIC! What a strong piece...full of emotion, rage at times and frustration too...everything that makes up a perfect "vent" poem or slam...Rock on :)
Thank you so much for entering this in the Vent Radio contest!

[Raef C. Boylan]

Yeah, this is good, and although it does call out to be performed, it also works well as a written piece.
I admired the unhesitant honesty in this one -

"Then the truth comes softly and painfully when
Skinny girls sporting various hues

say with encouragement "daaaaammmn"
whenever I am
Brave enough to flash a bit of skin."

Lots of realistic details here. The narrative voice is what really carried it off though -

"Shock, the awe-factor
The I-can't-believe-he-would-say-that-in-front-of-me
Factor
I wonder what they say when I'm gone�"

The last three lines are a really powerful ending, which I bet worked great when performed too.

You've done a great job here of flicking from scene to scene throughout the narrator's life, bringing us to the present. If I did this, it would be too abrupt or too choopy and wouldn't read well, but yours does. i think it's because the narrative tone mostly remains constant...or something like that.

Overall, great write.
Thanks for posting it. I like the style of this.

[LC Coyle]

I was about to say you should perform this when I read the author's note. The last two stanzas are breathtaking. I also liked that you used periods so sparingly; it gave a necessary importance to your words. IMO, the last line doesn't have to be bigger on paper-it speaks for itself. However, as a slam poem, I would have done the same thing for performance's sake, just so I didn't forget to emphasize the line in the heat of the moment. Without the performance aspect, this poem has so much quiet elegance that it doesn't need any special fonts. Thanks for your journey :)