choice

Choice

Written by Michelle

I could do skinny.
I did it before.
I’d lose the love of my life though,
I’m sure.
 
I could do bony.
That was my ‘look’.
Oh great loss of losses –
The work that once took!
 
I could do tiny.
That was my size.
‘Just a case of returning
To games, tricks, and lies.
 
I could do busy.
That was my ‘thing’.
But I know of the emptiness
That choice can bring.
 
I could do hassled.
I knew that one well.
I also know ‘hassled’
Becomes living hell.
 
I could do active.
I look sort of fit..?
How many more walks though
‘Til my poor feet submit?
 
I could do ‘waif-like’.
But I know that’s a lie.
I was never a waif –
For that, I had to try.
 
I could do the ‘work’
It would take to get thin.
I’d just have to resurrect
Old rules again.
 
I’d lose my apartment;
This space for myself.
I’d lose out on nieces
And nephews; a wealth
 
Of future experiences
Put in a box,
To be buried. Perhaps found
In a decade, when, shocked,
 
I find that I’m thirty-eight,
Living alone,
Just having come out
Of a convalescent home,
 
After my fifth surgery –
Kidneys this time.
Writing laments;
More regrets, fit to rhyme,
 
Wondering how
I left it this long,
Listing my aims:
To be stable and strong,
 
Recalling that I
Almost had those, that time
When I took real control;
Tried to claim what was mine,
 
Then threw it away once more,
Fearing a size
Which I’d never see clearly
Through misguided eyes…
 
“I could have recovered;
Gone on to have kids;
To lay claim to the best man I’ve known
And be his…
 
For good, for life,
For the rest of our time;
Building a home,
 Making memories sublime;
 
Laughing and talking
And dancing together;
Wishing that this could,
Somehow, last forever.
 
Instead I chose skinny,
Like I’d done before.
I chose tiny and bony;
Weighed myself, to be sure;
 
Said ‘f**k you’ to health
And returned to a size
That was far more acceptable
To my distorted eyes…
 
And ended up thirty-eight,
Living alone,
Just having come out of
A convalescent home.”
 
I could have chosen all that,
But, damn it, I won’t.
If ‘fully alive’ means I’m bigger,
I don’t
 
Give a hoot or a damn
Or a care in the world.
I am not a sob story.
I am not that girl
 
Who was once full of promise,
Who was almost there,
But she made the wrong choice,
Because she forgot that she cared
 
Far more about life
Than the size of her hips.
I have tasted full freedom.
It’s touched my lips.
 
It’s sweet and it’s huge
And it’s waiting for me.
I choose it. I choose it.
I choose to be free.
 
It’s always my choice
And I make it today.
I’ll make it tomorrow;
Again the next day.
 
Goodbye to being skinny.
I’ve been there; done that.
I’ll bring my new body and
Never look back;
 
Never regret
All the ‘work’ that was ‘wasted’;
Never choose that over
The joy I’ve now tasted.
 
I’ll never again
Let my values be skewed.
I’ll bound only forward,
With vigour renewed;
 
Feel strength in my legs
And my arms, reaching out;
Hear with pride my full voice,
As I sing and I shout
 
That this is my life,
And it’s bigger by miles
Than that which I could have chosen –
A life of desires
 
Unfulfilled. No.
Fulfilled I am now,
More fulfilled I will be,
As onwards I plough.
 
So ‘yes’ to my stomach
And ‘yes’ to my hips,
For with them comes a future
I don’t want to miss.
Michelle