I am tired of sucking in the gut
of my need and fear,
binding my heartaches close to my chest,
squeezing my sadness into skinny jeans.
I am emotionally fat.
I have rolls of grief around my stomach,
thighs thick with worry, a double chin of anxiety.
I will never be as thin as what I want them to see.
But I have rolls of joy
and arms plump with empathy.
My breasts are massive with love and desire.
I won’t shrink all this to fit their fashions.
If you want to be with me,
know this: there is nothing small
or pert about my feelings.
Be prepared for mass and bulk.
When I’m hurt, I lean hard,
but when I’m well, let me tell you:
my embrace is magnificent. I wrap your whole self
with my kaleidoscope heart.
Emotionally Fat
Elizabeth A. Frank is a poet and artist who lives with her husband and two daughters in the Boston area. She is drawn to the interplay of written and visual arts, and feels most whole when creating or walking in the woods. Her poems have appeared in Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing and This Present Former Glory: An Anthology of Honest Spiritual Literature. She can be found on Instagram @glint_into_fire.