Dear Fat Girl,
I love your Instagram selfies, tee shirts and panties, thick thighs, and round bellies, dirty bathroom mirror with the flash turned on, looking at the screen because you’re feeling yourself. Yes. I love them.
I love your Facebook profile photo with your summer skin showing, fat arms out in sleeveless shirts, raised high, saluting the sun, throwing peace signs, smiling through lip gloss and coconut oil, sunglasses on because your future is so bright, baby. I love that.
I love your beach booty in that beachy bikini, getting darker all over your tummy, stretch marks drinking it all in so deeply, vitamin E and saltwater and sweet tea blessing your body, warm to the touch on hot days and hot nights. I love you like this.
I love your cellulite peeking out, your cell phone sticking out of short shorts and crop tops and high tops and gotdamn, the way you own everything and every step you make as you’re pounding that pavement, moving in that forward direction, in that upward direction, in that you-can’t-stop-me direction, you make me hungry for whatever it is you’re serving because I just want to follow you wherever you go. I love that about you.
I love your skin for its softness, your heart for its strongness, your mind for its braveness, your life for its fullness. I love every curve, every roll, every fold, every goal that you make and then meet because you are not one to be beat. You are one to watch. I love watching you succeed because you make me believe in the things I can do.
Dear Fat Girl,
I love you.
And you make me wanna love myself too.