I’m not fat but my bones have handbags

 


I’ve not got thinner

I can’t use the word thinner anymore

I’m just trying harder to wear old clothing

but my old duvet lumps still sag under thin skin

a determined middle-aged barrel

no longer filled with beer

but still undeniably youthless

love handles 

and lust bumpers

I’m not fat 

but my bones have hand bags

filled with nothing but air

clumsily taking up cupboard space 

with their misshapen slump

hold me but don’t grab a hold of me

don’t kneed my belly with little fists

only look at me front on

allow me to try the medium

remind me to appreciate this flesh today

because it has an agenda of its own



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