Please don't make fun of my crappy poem. I was up late and felt like I needed to get some things off my chest, so I started writing, and now I figure I might as well share it. After all, who else could relate better?
How easy would it be
to quit smoking
if you couldn't quit.
If to survive you had to have one,
or two, just those,
every day
no more but no less.
It's hard.
and nobody knows like you know
except everyone who's just like you.
We know.
We see each other,
we see us,
we judge each other,
and ourselves,
just like everyone else judges us.
We're lazy,
no control,
no will-power.
It's self esteem,
it's mostly mental,
it's fear or it's despair.
but nobody knows like we know.
When I look like them
will I think that way?!
That thought scares me.
It makes me sad to think
maybe that lage woman would judge me,
thinking I couldn't possibly understand
because I'm thin,
always been thin,
never had to deal with her reality.
Will I want to tell her I understand?
It makes me sad to think
fat jokes are still going to hurt
even when they're not directed at me,
maybe worse than they do now.
What if I'm thin and I still don't think I'm pretty?
What if I'm thin and I'm still afraid
to do the things I avoid now?
What will I blame it on then?
I suppose I won't know,
not 'till I get there.
The grass is greener
and all that...
I'm making a change,
--I'm so sick of bein' fat--
and I'll get there,
one shake at a time.