The Slender Girl My Story

By Pooja Jain

Rawbone! Yes Iam a skin and bone girl.

Scrawny, twiggy, bony and stringbean.

Just a few and far between frivolous words I scorn to hear about

myself.

Why Iam always projected on the substructure of the weight of my

body?

Yes Iam a skin and bone girl.

Don’t people think I comprehend that?

If you presume that being a beanpole is bugging you so much than

you take my stature and give me some of your bulkness.

By virtue of no matter what I chow down gaining is not my wheel of

fortune.

Yes Iam a skin and bone girl.

People telling me to gobble up something like I abnegate myself for

hour glass figure.

Walk a piddling steps into my shoes to see what a phantasm it is to

hear several times shriveled and shadow.

To being referred to as skeleton and little one.

Walk a mile into my shoes how on thin ice and vague I feel.

At several occasions, functions and nuptial rites my weight is the only

thesis of worriment.

Even my dress, size, measurement and what I eat.

I’ve combated with my weight impassable to gain.

I’ve strived with dirty digs and snappy comebacks for so long.

If only I could swap with them so they could feel how I feel everytime.

Now stop all your cerebral hits.

Iam fed up with all your mental hits.

Iam pissed up with all your nauseates and trespasses.

When a femur gap and protruding bones becomes the next big

connotation.

By Pooja Jain