The Consequence of a Weight Watchers Upbringing

Portioned plates on scales steady

Ready to shame a fat girl’s body.

There sits the recipe which equates beauty with size.

Delicate and thin is what we must strive for, this is the message we digest.

Individuals in mirrors reflect, pinching their flesh and criticizing their form.

Little eyes observe and absorb, their worth must therefore be girth measured.

Searching approval, the kin bends knees and finger forces

the nourishment out and continues to chew lies, deceit.

The impression given by watching a guide bemoan the lack of an “ideal” waist

leads the young seeking comfort in a porcelain’s flushing disposal.


Mama scans the numbers, grumbling about the pounds.

Meanwhile her baby hunches, frail, over a bowl she thinks will make mother proud.

Intelligence, independence, and perseverance are not emphasized,

but celebrity worship and petite clothing tags are talked about daily.

The mentor doesn’t understand the effect of her diet cause.

Rather than speaking of health she constantly mutters refrains that seem to bestow prettiness to bony people.


Mama, do you think I’m beautiful?  Am I cute if I’m not dwindling?

My strong will aggravates you.  I’m night to your day.

I’m a nuisance to your career pursuits and my gestation altered your desired body.

You pursue this petty ideal on a daily basis,

so I’ll retreat to the washroom fortress,

disappearing so I won’t be an inconvenience.


Let us be ever mindful of our speech and the ramifications it can have on youth.  Let fathers not be passive in their child’s cry too, especially a daughter wanting approval of her beauty.  It’s not solely my perceptions or choices.

My rearing had an impact Papa.

Can’t you see she despised you too?

Weight was all that mattered and it seems that this will never change.

Don’t tell me to move on and it was my wrongful impression.

The chorus was a constant critique of body image.

How else am I supposed to view my figure and not to the other pendulum side swing?

I’m not too sensitive and my self-esteem not too poor.  These vile portions served were quite real and please don’t dismiss it.

A culture obsessed with the obesity worry can, and most likely will, wander towards a generation fretting over a frame.

This will lead to frail flesh, bones dancing for acceptance.

All this a result of somehow implying that beauty was in the ebbing of pounds, and in turn, self.




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