I am fat. I have soft rolls on my belly and stretch marks tracing my skin. I have had partners lovingly grasp my F.U.P.A. (fat upper pubic area) as we kissed and made love. It made me feel respected, loved and seen. My fat makes me warm, heat emitting off to warm my loved ones. A delicate layer protecting me as I reach out for a hug. My fat is a part of me, a part that I am tired of denying. A part that has done nothing wrong.
I am saying sorry to my belly. In sixth grade I forced you into a corset, I could not run and play with the others but at least I thought I looked thinner. I am sorry for squeezing you into body shapers that caused me to lose my breath and feel faint. Into jeans that were a size too small, because I did not want to accept that I had gained weight; pinching you and leaving red marks. I am sorry for publicly and vocalling shaming you to please others. I am sorry for feeling tempted to cut you off with scissors, tears in my eyes because I was tired of being seen as less than by others. I am sorry for thinking that my life would be better after I lost you.
I am cute. My eyes are the color of soil, life growing within its depths. My round face is marked by petite features and chubby cheeks. I have a big smile that causes me to close my eyes when I feel genuinely happy and at peace. I have a double chin that reflects unflatteringly on my laptop screen. My breast, like the softest pillows, on my chest. My body is welcoming. My laugh rings through walls and calls for your attention. My body demands your attention. I demand to be noticed.
I now realize that it was you, who has provided so much love to me. I am strong and powerful, because of you. I have gained confidence from you. I am who I am proud of today, because of my fat. Being fat and cute is not mutually exclusive. I am nor one or the other. I am both.