If you’re not careful these will end up like your mom and aunt’s,
said my uncle as he playfully jiggled my meaty upper arms.
If you wear a black cardigan on top of that people won’t focus on your arms,
said my best friend in tenth grade.
If only you’d stop eating so much junk food all the time,
said my mother as her shirt seemed to hug my arms just a little too tight.
If all this flab wasn’t so prominent, maybe he’d ask me out,
I told my teenage self in the mirror, over and over again.
And till this day, my flabby arms are constantly blamed for more than they
need be held responsible for.
Till this day, an unnecessary aspect I must think about before starting my day,
Still waiting for The End.