Well Intended, My Friend

How do you know I'm that pathetic?
I didn't see you at the mall... but did you see me?
I was leafing through racks of clothing for my daughters.
In all sorts of pastel shades.
I was in black.
Silly pathetic girl.
But, you still attack me.
Almost barking when you see me.
I know it.
I know it so well that I try not to move when you come-a-knocking.
I try not to draw attention to myself.
If I have to bend down or turn around- I just save it for later.
Today you followed me up the stairs.
In my mind, I imagined you were noticing all my flaws.
butt, back, legs, shoes. Head to toe.
Then, I convinced myself I was judging you...
and I stopped.

But, oh- how you continued!
At the top of the stairs you said my legs looked swollen.
No matter how hard I tried to move away from the conversation- you backed me in.
"OK, you got me," I should have sad. "Me, Fat. I never knew!"
But, instead I let your words fall on me like little accusations.

Uncared for...

You do know they are just swollen feet?
(even though I still think they aren't)
Feet?

What about my feelings?
How do you know I'm that pathetic- that I will take it all.
And more.
Whatever you have to give me.

Tonight, though- my sister rallied for me.
Granted you were gone by then.
But she said the sort of things sisters say.

My sister, my family- build a fortress around me,
but your greatest of insults, aimed well and intended for me-
make it through.

Congratulations!