There are only a few things in life which I am incredibly passionate about. Poetry comes into that, so does food, and on a far lower level, photography; hence why all three are always integral to the content of my posts.

As I said in my last post, I’m working on Part One of my final year project- which focuses on the creation of poetry.

I’m using spark points- sound, image and word, as a creative base for three new poems, and in today’s post I’d like to talk about the third point.

The word which inspired this poem is Thin.

The concept of what it is to be Thin interests me. Thin. It is entirely subjective; what is thin to you will differ to what is thin to me.

To be thin is desirable. To be thin is to be desired. I think that it is very easy to lose yourself in that quest to become thin.

A few years ago, I was not thin.


I remember one particular shopping trip with a friend, it is a moment which I imagine will always be burned into my memories- as harsh moments tend to do- a moment of intense realisation. I tried on a top which made me realise just how fat I was. The material was clingy, it wrapped itself to my rotund belly, accentuating the fat. I remember looking at my reflection in utter horror; I hadn’t realised until that moment just how big I was.

If you look at photographs of me now, you’ll see that I’m not that girl anymore. I’m at a happy stage; I indulge in delicious goods, but for the majority of the time, I have a healthy fruit & veg filled diet.

I’m lucky though, that I have found my feet on stable ground, because all too often, people lose weight- and keep on losing it. Their lives become controlled by hunger pains and counting calories. It becomes exhausting to just get up in the mornings. They are cold, all the time. To be thin, what is that?

I’ve been thin.
Spine bruised from bed springs, thin.
Clothes loose over taut skin, thin.
Hair lost with every stroke of a brush, thin.
Hips jutting ugly, ribs fit to be counted, thin.
Pinching at folds, trying to hold onto something, thin.
Forever convinced of that double chin, thin.
I’ve been thin.
Hollow aching stretching stomach lining, thin.
Yellow nails snapping, bleeding at the rims, thin.
Breaking my mother’s heart, thin.
Longing for sweet treats, self-loathing for such lust, thin.
Drinking in coffee like air, for fuel to shuffle forwards, thin.
Sad, thin.
I’ve been thin.


One thought on “Thin.

  1. Really like the poem! And the pictures! AND the fact that the food pictures are of gourmet food, rather than a hamburger which people usually associate gluttony and obesity with. Makes you wonder why people don’t frown upon pretty cakes as much as they do hamburgers even though both are equally fattening.

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