As I sit here devouring my toasted, croissant, turkey sandwich;
sipping on a Homie coke, savoring each bit of my raspberry scone,
and contemplating life with each potato chip bite:
an epiphany startles me from the pursuit of my pleasant palatability.
I am fat: love handles on the sides, stretch marks rubberbanding my waist,
cake so large you could see it amongst the cosmos, side profile not as appealing
as the front face view.
Yet, Whitman once said “I am large, I contain multitudes.”
A metaphorical sentiment, but literal perception exposing something profound:
that as much as we nourish the soul; the body must eat to survive
and not every vessel is built up of the same star stuff,
shining and shaping in different forms
as God took the clay of Earth and formed Adam;
humanity given short lives to find joys even in the act of digestion.
I am fat, and that is beautiful.