“You got fat,” he said.
“You got fat, grandpa,” I say
but I know it’s not true,
he’s not fat
am I?
When was the last time he saw me?
What do I weigh?
Is it what I’m wearing?
I know I look different now than
even three years ago,
I am aging, it seems gentle most days,
but now I wonder, if I’m lying to myself.
One sentence; three words
and I’m in a tailspin
grinding my self-esteem to a pulp
pureeing my confidence
It’s that easy some days.
I may respond with humor,
I may show you my whit and laugh it off,
Inside, however, I fume–
angry at him, but more than that
angry at myself for letting him, you,
and your careless words penetrate my armor.
