I hate stretch marks, each one is like a carved name from a childhood of being bigger. They were nothing but simple seedlings at first, nothing more. Tubby, Fatso and Fatass.
Let me tell you something about simple seedlings, they don't cause this amount of damage. Let me tell you something about simple seedlings, they grow.
They become vines, with infinite stretching, curling and barbed; branches each don a new name Freak, Emo, Dyke.
They are now a forest. They have grown and become a jungle of jagged, serrated and barbed vines. Each one tearing more at my flesh ripping these wounds at each meal each day.
Now I say thank you to those who planted the seeds. A class supposedly from the generation of love. I see no love when I look at you. All I see is the scale, the numbers, the counted calories, the missed meals.
I was nothing.
I was an empty stomach crawling home. So now as I again am an empty stomach crawling into my empty bed in my empty house I reminisce. I say thank you to a generation of love that made me drop from a size 15 to a size 8. I am now a person.
Now I am a person.
So thank you to the generation of love that made me hate myself enough to lose myself so you would love me.
Stretch marks and seedlings///-GM
