Fat Poem by Ocklawaha Holt

They are cows. Plodding along until their next meal.
Waiting, Watching, for someone to pay attention to them.
But no one ever does for long.
Because they are:
Looking at the world with blank eyes;
Because that is how the world sees them.
A waste of flesh and space, that's it.

When inside, passion rumbles
And distress tumbles head over heels
Into a pit of despair.
But no one can see that.

Not even those with x-ray vision:
The cellulite is too thick to see through.
This is how they are,
Like cows plodding along until their next meal.
Without hope. without purpose.

Just cows

And the worst part is:
I AM ONE OF THEM.