My life is a hall of mirrors,
and in each one stands
a reminder that I am fat.
Narrow and unleveled as the pathways are, I take deep looks and heave.
I wake up each morning as Chris,
but I go to bed an elephant,
a walrus rolled into a rug.
Or you’ll growl at me and call me a bear.
Some days I’m “handsome, for a bigger guy.” Other days I don’t fit into department store threads, or I flinch at my picture.
And some days you’ll be helpful and ask me about my exercise habits
and offer to sell me weight loss products.
Or remind me that being fat is a choice.
On a really good day, you’ll assure me I’m “not that fat.”
Or you’ll look away.
Tell me to cover up.
Avoid me.
Block me at first glance on a dating site.
It’s you. You’re the mirror.
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