I reach my hands up to the sky, trying to touch the clouds and feel weightless. Be weightless. I am not the heaviest, but my mind pulls downward; more heavily than gravity. This is my problem; these are my wishes. I must act now. Now or never.
I’m too fat to pose all sexy like this anymore. How sad is that? I have really let myself go and I hate how impossibly surreal this feels; especially because I know I’m the only one who can fix this and I won’t.
Do not touch your body with bad intentions. Rub your belly when it is full. Stroke your soft skin. Hug yourself, even if it’s silly, because it feels nice. Pleasure yourself. Do not touch your body with bad intentions. Do not pinch at the fat on your stomach. Do not scratch at your skin. Do not hate the shell you’re encased in.
“What if our religion was each other, if our practice was our life, if prayer, our words. What if the temple was the earth, if forests were our church, if holy water—the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships, if the teacher was life, if wisdom was self-knowledge, if love was the center of our being.”