Around my stomach I wear my fat,
A security blanket forever shaming and embarrassing.
Used to arouse my anger so I may place my hate
Always needing it’s annoyance near me
Providing my unwanted yet necessary excuses.
If not for my blanket’s presence,
My life might not still exist.
There would be no Me as I know now,
Instead, in a smaller body a different, lesser person
Without the knowledge, consideration, or uniqueness
That inhabits my mind.
Would I truly be Me with out
The imagination that fuels my heart and feeds my dreams?
Would there be ambition or resilience?
Lacking my irritant there’d be a shell of Me,
Exposed to this raw world.
Would it still be ruled by fear?
If I lose my hideous blanket,
Could I face the possibility or fact that people,
If actually capable of seeing past my blanket,
Might still see the hideousness of me?
Then where shall I place my hate, my excuses?
I’d need new rationale for rejection,
That it is Me that they reject and no longer my blanket.
This lesser person, this shell of Me
Would be heartless, careless,
And completely lost without a blanket.
I’d address Me as “it” by then I’d be a monster.
Material eyes wouldn’t waste a glance
At the dying brownness over the fence,
Couldn’t think of the others
Living only with the green of their eyes,
As I have, for so many years.
Appreciation would be lost along with deepness of love.
Would it truly feel? Or enjoy the pleasure
Of knowing and being oneself.
Would I, being it, be happy in sheer bliss of ignorance?
If I being Me had the chance
To forget myself, and my past
Would I become that emptier but beautiful person,
Just to look in a mirror with dry cheeks?
Would I be real? Would I be strong, or happy?
Or just torn down by the confrontation
Of fear, of truth?
I cannot leave my blanket behind
Although hated, I need it with all my life.
For the fear, for the uncertainty, or for the best of me
I need my excuse, my blame, my security.