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Extra Large

A posterised image of a woman walking down a supermarket isle with a bag slung over

Large will not fit you.

She is scoping me, up and down, eyes

Flicking fast and darting away

From the roundness of my breasts

To the happy jiggle of my thighs.


“Try extra-large instead.”

The advice stings like a cut

Dripping with salty sweat

Burning with shame inside

Because everything is too big.

The jiggle is obscene.


But in the mirror, critically

Watching everything big,

Large, extra large, massive,

Assessing all that hugeness

With blazing eyes and firm chin

I find a clue.


Every day, I negotiate

With the curves and valleys of

My hips and breasts with clothes

To minimize, exalt, prettify.


Little compromises. Choices

Masquerading as facts.

That will not suit.

My body is a problem.

This curve is too round.


Something oozes out of

Every neglected, smoothed over

Imperfection of my body today.


I am extra large, but my

Definition is different.


Because after ages, I have

Learned not to give a damn.

My extra largeness is

Finally escaping from the pores

Of my tanned, brown skin.


My extra largeness is new found.

It is in the essence that runs through

My veins.


Go ahead, call me extra large.

This time I will smile.

It does not sting anymore.

Cover image courtesy sekihan (CC BY-NC 2.0)