Skin by Reem Sabra

Posted on February 10, 2013 by


[An apology letter]


I grew up in an environment where ‘fat’ is one of the worst things you can be; and so at the age of ten, I made my first debut to world of dieting, and by the age of sixteen, I had become an expert on the many types of diet pills.


And now you’re battered from all the fights we’ve had, all the I hate yous whispered from my side. Instead of being taught to be in unison and harmony with you, I was taught to go the farthest ends of the world to fight you; armed with fat-burning shakes and weight loss herbs and laxative teas (God forbid the food actually stayed in my system).


See, I’m a warrior, though. My battle scars are the pink tissue running vertically along my abdomen. I am a warrior dodging attacks of verbal bullets of missiles and tear gas canisters of hate of syllables gnawing at my flesh of intolerant paws clawing at my skin. I am a warrior and I have wanted to pile bricks around me for shelter. I am a warrior and my battle ground have often been the never-ending labyrinth within me.


But, by god, I will scrub down every label thrown at you; like a group of rowdy kids cleaning up their acts of vandalism. It is not your fault that they are not aware of the Mahmoud Darwish poems you carry under you, of the soft-spoken Khalil Gibran lines I bathe you in every night, of the Yasmine flowers I grow between your curves, of the Sinatra tunes that stroke and prod every square inch of you .


And, so, with all that being said, I am so god damn sorry.

Posted in: Skin