When you look at that girl on the street, yeah, that girl, you know who I'm talking about. The one that can barely fit in her pants, the one that dreams of love but never comes. When you laugh at her, when you tease her, do you think she wanted to become this way? Do you think her goal in life was to be fat?
Think again. Everyone wants to be skinnier, no one wants to be fatter, fat as she is. So insicure, hardly ever goes out of her home, who could appreciate her?
She's flesh like everyone else, maybe a little more flesh than normal. But it's not the meat that bothers you. It's how her underarm fat comes out of the dresses, it's how you can see cellulite when she sits down, it's how her doublechin looks like from sideways. It's how her clothes don't fit, because clothes are supposed to be flattering only on beautiful bodies.
But what is beautiful? Aren't stretch-marks beautiful? Isn't arm flab beautiful? If bones can be pretty, than why can't a muffin-top be beautiful?
The funny thing is that when she'll find someone that loves her, she won't believe it, she'll never believe it: because she only sees a lump of gross fat, she can't see what's inside, because the harshest judge of her looks is herself.