Beautiful Torture

Today I was told that I was an above average weight
By a lady whose business it wasn't.
Vogue has allocated me eighty pounds of space,
And the populace berates me for taking more.
Their own models are shrunken and abused into becoming the average.
(The scary part of that sentence is the fact that people have achieved less.)
We torture prisoners by starvation,
So why
Is it a part of our beauty regime?
Will water boarding give me smaller pores?
Does cutting my ear off even my complexion?
WHY then,
Is the starvation of millions accepted in the name of beauty?
I have been taught that it is better to mutilate behind closed doors than to love what I see in the mirror.
I have been laced, and braced, tied, pinched, poked, prodded, and poisoned.
The corset of the public opinion is tightening and crushing my lungs, trying to rid me of any extra air I might be breathing without their permission.
This space is all that I own, and all that I will own, in all of time and eternity.
It is the only thing that can't be taken from me.
Even after I die, they will build a box around my space, and place a stone there, saying "this space was HERS."
They tell me that I am taking up too much of this world.
That I have over reached my welcome,
As if they are doing something better with it, and I am an interruption.
My body is beautiful,
And was not built to look a child's.
So if my curves are not in your equation,
Think again.
I stem from eons of people before me who didn't fit the system-
We are too dark, too pale, too small, too large, too EVERYTHING.
If I want to occupy one hundred pounds of space, I will.
If I want to occupy one-hundred thirty pounds of space, I will.
If I want two hundred pounds, three hundred pounds, ninety-seven pounds, I WILL TAKE IT.
My space is mine to occupy however I wish,
Eighty pounds or not.