By Delaney Burk

“Don’t Worry, Chubby Chasers Will Still Fuck You.”

You’re a feminist, but you must say that
English Major Thin Girls hurt you. You’re fat.

They’re as miserable as you are, but
such problems are uglier when one’s fat.

Sexy sadness and lovely loneliness
are reserved for size eights. Not for the fat.

Blogs about depression romanticized,
buried in Sylvia Plath quotes. Yeah, fat

chance your tears will be considered lovely.
With all that salt, even your tears are fat.

You watch them wear sweaters in your size
like a beast’s hide over their tiny, fat-free

bodies. They croon a sweet siren’s song of
petite magnificence, safe in your fat.

You are mocked for wearing the same and you
scrub tears from your eyes as you witness ‘fat’

become ‘thick’ and you still do not fit in
the mold or your jeans. Your version of fat’s

not of the Instagram variety.
No poems for English Major Girls That Are Fat.