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WAISTLINES


Back in high school, just before our final exams, there was a sudden obsession about waistlines.it was the emergence of the crop top (begins every curvy woman’s nightmare). I was the small population that looked through the glass. I have almost forty inches on my waistline. I stopped measuring a few years ago when I decided the world cared enough for me to just chill. I Outgrow my clothes rapidly still, and I try not to care that my friends fit the same clothes for years. I try not to care that they can share every single item.

I fail at loving myself, a lot. My YouTube home page is pages upon pages of how to lose waist inches overnight and inventions like these (they don’t work btw). There was a time I would rock my waistline when I did not give two shits about what I could or could not where. Then came the nights out and the late-night dresses. Nothing would fit me the way I wanted it to fit, mostly because I wanted more to change my body than the dress I was wearing. I had been called big and fat a lot of my years but now the language had switched to thick and my waistline was now measured sexually.

Even today I am wearing an oversized sweater to cover the bulges within. the African heritage I used to be so proud of has been washed away by all he ads and the models and all the diets that have been suggested to me. I find myself rethinking every outfit to mask these places in my body that look to me uneven. the people around me have constantly told me ‘maybe if you shed a little belly fat you would be perfect’. they have always given me a stare when I reached for a second cookie. They have left comments on social media about how big I am. There were days I was stronger and able to take them in stride, but today I choose to hide and undefine my waistline.

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