4 of 30/ shrinking/ 31

We made shrinking into 

an artform a while back, a game 

of who could eat the most 

yet take up the least space, 

we exchanged trade secrets over

group lunches where we all

declined second helpings;

It was always the polite thing

to do. A kindness in the

form of self harm, in the 

form of group harm, in the

form of mob mentality- only we

didn’t realise the only house

we were burning were our 

own bodies. Later,

when the smoke alarms 

finally began to sound, we just

congratulated each other- our

butterfly bodies were too weak 

to fly but atleast we were small,

atleast we were finally fitting

into the clothes we had 

only dreamed of buying.

A few weeks ago, I met an

old friend at a party, and a man

told us we were looking a bit 

on the chubby side, so

my friend said ‘thank you’ and

I said ‘I’m sorry’ and I wonder 

what that says about me, that

even after all this time, my body

is still one that’s only acceptable

to me when it’s dying, only 

acceptable to me when it’s

acceptable to me when it’s

acceptable to everyone else.

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