Words sit on my tongue–unspoken.
I roll them around like a piece of chocolate,
trying to make them last, I avoid chewing
so I eat less.

My grandma called me fat yesterday
but got me a signed picture of Miss Kentucky
to say I’m sorry. The pretty woman feels
less like an apology and more like a threat.

My younger sister is doing beauty pageants
and my mom and dad are taking her to auditions
for the American Girl magazine. I want to go but
my dad said only if I lose twenty pounds.

I am seven and I already have boobs.
My family says that’s a good thing, but I stand
in front of the mirror and pinch them as they itch.

Dad won’t let me wear a bra
because he says I am not old enough but
my nipples rub against my too tight t-shirt
and I wonder why boobs are good
if they just look like more fat
and feel like pain.