Weighty Matters

She is bigger
than some
smaller than some
not good enough
still
Beauty is
a weighty
matter
and it lays
heavily
upon her chest
self consciously
for all to see
she loathes
herself
for a moment
or two
when the jeans don't fit
and the tears
spill down her face
she tries to catch them
before they ruin her make-up
but she is outnumbered
and so
they fall
with her spirit
and lay
in a puddle on the ground-
a precious resource
the tears of an almost woman
grieving what she isn't
and missing
all that she is
oh-
that she could see herself
through my eyes
she would never cry over split denim
again...
the truth leans in and whispers this question to me:
how many years
did she hear you
worry about your weight
before she picked up her own unnecessary cross
and stumbled
under it's weight?
It is not just she I needed to adore...