You Deserve Love As Big As Your Thighs

Thought Catalog


They start the minute I get out of bed and look in the mirror – the voices, I mean. The ones that burn hot in my ears which point out the reasons I am not enough – or maybe too much. Like each time my fingertips trace over the hills of my stretch mark riddled hips, it’s the guy whose bed I crawl in and out of each weekend who sighs, regrettably, and says that I ‘look better with the lights off.’ And when my eyes stare hot at the bulge that is my stomach, it’s my middle school best friend, telling me, matter-of-factly, that she would “rather have acne than be fat.” And each time I feel my thighs touch, it’s the echo of each up and down glare that ends with “you have such a pretty face.” It’s at this point that I give up, get dressed and…

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