Poetry: Song of the Fat Girl

It is true the media confers status, set agenda among others. 

And the people every right to their opinions.

In our next poem, you'd see how I conveyed a girl's disapproval of what people think of her which gives me a good laugh at the end of the day.

Hope you'd love it too.

Song of the Fat Girl:

I am the fat girl next door;
And I am fat as fat can possibly be;
My stomach protrudes like that of an Elephant;
My legs are like the mortar’s each;
My arm is like a pestle;
In any contest of comparison, if you care to know,
The manifold of flesh on my neck
Will put any lion’s mane to shame;

Wherever I go,
I see disapproving looks on the faces of people
Whom the media has conditioned
To think in certain ways of my type;
While the bold ones would walk up to me and ask aloud:
“Ella, what are you eating?
Can’t you see your weight is getting out of hand!
They would intensify;”

But beneath the breath of others hanging around,
I can tell they are wondering too:
'How did it all come to this?'
They must think of me as being socially nerdish;
Think it’s all down to my unhealthy eating habits;
In short, they must think I am awkward, lazy and ugly;
They even have a name for my condition;
And they called it Obese;
Whatever that means, I don’t keep it a memory verse;
Going through this judgment every day,
It’s little wonder then what many plus size ladies
Daily put themselves through trying to conform
With the media's definition of a beautiful lady;
They could stay off food for insane hours;
Take slim teas at recommended intervals;
Spend the whole day at the gym or doing roadwork;
And all they get in return is a fraction of the intended result;
And a truckload of embarrassment from their hubbies or man-friends;
Who would not have them accompany them to social outings;
But since it has become so difficult keeping up
With the tide of their ungodly rule
That only the slim, tall and blonde lady is beautiful;
I think I better set my own rules
And played by them come rain or sunshine;
That I am fat and short
Could not make me any less cute than the rest;
And I am no less endowed on the inside
Than your so-called miss universes;
I have heard also within earshot
Of much-expressing amazement I could move around at all;
They imagine my body must be way too ponderous
For ease of any mobility:
But that, of course, is completely nonsensical;
Because a body can't be way too heavy
Its owner would simply be unable to swing it around!
My photo
Deji Olaluwe
Abuja, FCT, North Central,, Nigeria
Deji Olaluwe is a writer, poet, and blogger. He's the brain behind this blog. Some of his hobbies are travelling, listening to good music (especially Afro-centric genres), and meeting people.