where do you get your power from?
Saying no. Saying yes. Lipstick as ritual, self-care as ritual, reminding myself that I move my muscles all on my own. I get power from confession and truth and loving in big, scary, hard ways. From dialing the number or knocking on the door or buying the ticket. I get power from headphones in on the walk home, knife in my palm, and a “I fucking dare you” snarl. I get my power from my friends, their big drawbridge hearts and the keep going, keep going, keep going. I get it from writing, from making things with my hands, from Beyonce loud in my speakers, dancing in my underwear in the mirror like my body hasn’t always felt right but in soft light I can wrap my head around the word beautiful. I get power from those moments of self-reclamation. From remembering the way people love me, from remembering the way I love people in return. That big, messy chaos that I sit with. From the mistakes. From the recognition of deflation but not defeat. Car singalongs, impromptu trips to god knows where, laughing loud and ugly.
You are not fat.
You are a soul. You are a mind. You are not fat. You have fat. You also have fingernails, but you aren’t fingernails, are you? You have hair, but you aren’t hair, are you? You have fat, but you are not fat. You are beautiful.