Sauntering down the wynd, wearing my aplomb and prestige, hearsay passed by,
My corpulence wasn’t just my chassis, but a riposte to their unwanted why.
Unceasing my footfalls, I carried myself with a muted smile and masked tears,
Sheathing my arms with my trembling hands, and my eyes bespoke fears.

Haunted by the mumbles of grouchy colleen and tacit judgment, my head arched down,
Just a step that I ambled, and the attire that I designed myself in, was the talk of the town.
“Rotund” is what I hear from one end and “vandalized” from the other,
Stood right in the middle, with disparaging vocables resonating, I couldn’t tread further.

A step that I put forward, another locution pulled me back,
The skin that I suspired in was a gaffe and the pumping heart was an inutile sack.
The maquillage on my face was malfeasance but smile that I put was trifling,
The ambiance I was enwreathed by, treated me as lackey and themselves as callous king.

It wasn’t bevy of jurists but bevy of verdicts,
Their words were as echt as orison and my covet is their exasperation and guilt.
My curvaceous bod wasn’t my pride, it was an article to chortle at,
I wasn’t agonized by my name, I was avowed by a term called “fat”.

This society doesn’t embody citizenry, but percipience,
I was simply moulded into someone with futile heart, splintered and dense.
I ululated for a chance, a chance to reckon in myself, a chance to be me,
At that juncture, I forgot I was carved by credence of vulpine society.

-Saumya Puri.