I really can’t be sure because I haven’t stepped on a scale in about two years because it doesn’t matter and I love my body no matter how much it weighs or how much fat is on it.
But I’ve noticed something recently.
Barring the internet, I’ve been receiving less and less “positive” attention from people, particularly teenaged boys. Less catcalls, though they haven’t completely stopped. Less flagrant sexual harrassment in the street, though it hasn’t completely stopped. Less of them awkwardly trying to talk to me, demanding my phone number, touching my body without permission.
More dirty looks at what I’m wearing. More audible whispering of how they wouldn’t fuck me. As if I need their validation. As if they could ever possibly be lucky enough to fuck me. Or even have the pleasure of my company. Gone are the days of letting you push yourself inside of me so I can feel full-up with something that matters.
And I say GOOD. Good fucking riddance. I’m fucking glad my body makes me undesirable to you, because you exude the fetid stink of misogyny and sexual entitlement.
Yes, that’s it, boys, give me a wide fucking berth because I have things to do and places to go that most certainly do not include you. Fall by the wayside as I undulate past you…but not at my feet because your kind don’t deserve to worship at my altar.
My body is thinning the herd. My body is cutting away the fucking chaff of the socially conditioned mind.
You are doing nothing but making it easier for me to suss out your shallow, poison-tongued ilk. I can only hope the thinner, more delicate, prettier girls be smart enough to see through your facade and kick you down like Amazons as well.
I throw my head back and my entire body shakes with laughter as your faces crumble when I snatch the pen from your hands and begin to write my own definition of me. You’ve crushed me into dust but it’s your turn to stare on in horror as I mix it with your blood and mould beautiful, dangerous things with the clay.
I’m pointing you out, calling you by name, and writing stories of your false bravado on the walls of your home with red lipstick.
So long, suckers. It’s been a horrible 26 years with you pushing and pulling at my body. I will now let the sun shine on my bare fat thighs as you rot and become naught but fertilizer for other ones like me.