the clock read 4 am
in new york city,

one hell of a city

i was at a little coffee place, still open
it was one i frequented often, when in the sin
a place of pity
when you look closely at the people or inspect the buildings a bit nearer
some street blocks you need just look down
but i'd bought a cup for a nice young fella out on his luck
he'd made the pavement his pillow
and as he talked my ear off
on physics, domestic politics, and stocks
i thought of what little difference
it made to so many
whether it was him or i
calling my stay on the straightaways
and the little that made us separate

You deserve no pity for it was done in earnest;
Declaring innocence’s a consolation at best;
Like us all through mortality you were put to the test;
Carelessness’ a testimony upon which you now may rest.

Against famine you took the lead by unsheathing the sword,
Spilling blood amidst the pleads without believing the word.
Our tribunal for this affair will have your future sealed;
The trial may not seem fair, but so never were your deeds.

I wrote a poem
about eating disorders.

I wrote a poem
about the pain in my heart.

I said that weight is not
equivalent to health

because weight is not
equivalent to health.

I stand by that statement.
I stand by the truth.



in response, a woman
who I have never met
decided to ask me

how much cake
I ate that night.

to that woman,
and to anyone with
the same judgement
in their tiny hearts,

I would like to
give you an answer.



I do not have
an eating disorder.

I lost a large amount
of weight over a
short period of time.

because of that,
I was complimented.

but the truth is that
when I was that skinny,
I was the unhealthiest
I have ever been.

I had stopped eating.
I was sick. something was
physically wrong with me,
going undetected because

no one thought to ask me
how I was feeling.

they praised me for
my sudden weight loss,
not realizing that

I wasn’t dieting.
I was dying.



I have since recovered.
I have gained back all
of the weight that I lost.

I have not gained back
any of this weight in fat;
I gained all of my weight
back in muscle.



to the stranger
who tried to shame me
because she assumed
that I must be fat,

I run four miles
every morning.

before this pandemic,
I went to the gym
at least five out of seven
nights a week.

I had a promising career
in competitive skateboarding,
which was lost only because
of an injury in which
teenage me broke her legs.

I ran cross-country back
in high school and

only a year ago,
I ran an ultramarathon:
100 miles of terrain
and 24 hours to run.

I am physically fit
and most likely stronger
than you have ever been.



I laughed to myself
when I saw your comment

because you just proved that
everything I said was true.

you provided the perfect
example of society’s twisted
views on weight loss, so
I guess I should thank you.

you immediately jumped
to the conclusion that
I must be fat, and therefore
I must be unhealthy.



your ignorance is sad.
it will get you nowhere.

I can almost guarantee that
your anger and hatred
has not helped you.

your rudeness has
made you the topic of this
poem about judgement.

and unless you are able
to learn empathy,
this might be your life’s
biggest achievement.



to the woman who thought
that her words would
somehow hurt me,

I would like you to know
that you were wrong.

you have made me laugh
at the irony of your ignorance,

and you have made me sad
for you and the awful life that
you must live to have felt a
need to make that comment.

but you have not hurt me.



to that woman,
if one day we ever meet,

or if one day
I meet someone with
the same attitude as you,

let’s compete in an
ultramarathon together.

let’s cover those 100
miles of terrain and
finish that 24 hours of
almost nonstop running.

I hope you realize that
I could beat you.
I could easily win with
you as my competitor.



and finally, to answer
the original question
that for some reason you
felt so compelled to ask:

no, I did not have
any cake that night.



but I hope you know
that if we were to race,

I am confident that
I could still crush you
with three slices of cake
in my stomach.

Queen Antonym of Superficial,
I wish the pseudonym of your official
name was just your name.
Your anonymity is so much more to pity,
as your antonyms
are only pretty,
and their anonymity is in their substance.