Brunetteandred
Officially a loser
Lisa Sargese is an American woman who's had 2x bands and a bypass. She was orginally 400lbs and is a huge inspiration. Check out her website Lisa's Life Lessons where you can see You Tube videos of her early days and read hints tips and Lisa's blog as she learned to live with her WLS and helps others do likewise.
Below is a poem Lisa wrote... I love it. How many of us feel the same as she did when we see such blinding discriminaton?
No Fat Chicks
by Lisa A Sargese
Rated "PG" by the Author.
No Fat Chicks by Lisa Sargese is a spoken word piece inspired by an insulting bumper sticker!
No Fat Chicks
I saw a bumper sticker…
3 simple words that floated like a turd
into the punch bowl of my day
it said,
NO FAT CHICKS
It was
a warning
a barricade
an insult to me and my big sisters.
I laughed and knew the car belonged to a man
the kind who drives an “I roc Z-28”
and hangs a Playboy-bunny air freshener from
his rearview mirror.
I knew it did not belong to a lesbian
a big fat earth-mother with rolling hills
of flesh,
Flesh that holds the greasy yellow remnants
of rice and beans and jugs of wine consumed
with joy amongst friends.
I knew it did not belong to a housewife,
an oversized mother of 3
who kept her weight after the second baby,
who drives the kids to school
then smokes Marlboro lights
while she watches Pokemon underwear slosh
around in the soapy waters
of a front load washer at the local laundromat.
I knew it did not belong to an overweight teenager
who self-consciously dresses in black so as to darken her figure
and keep herself hidden from the penetrating eyes of her peers.
And yet
those three words belong to all of us
the throw aways
the not-good-enoughs
the too bigs
who would not be welcomed into that driver’s world
NO FAT CHICKS
means “no means no”
No,
fat chicks are like me
the carriers of extra weight
the burdens of our emotional distress stuffed away
with the comfort of chocolate, and sugar and crunchy bags of carbs
the survivors of too many diets that ruined our organs
and malnourished us so badly.
Deprived of acceptance we starved, then binged, then starved
then binged and eventually gave up the struggle
and accepted our place outside the
cars of the handsome, shallow young men who will only look at the
girls with flat plains for stomachs
horizons easily seen,
landscapes easily navigated
hips that hold no secrets, only bones.
I love my skinny sisters
their bodies are as sacred and beautiful as any other
woman’s
yet they hold privilege and favor
they can ride in any car
there will never be a bumper sticker banning them, telling them
in no uncertain terms, that they are not wanted because of their size.
I laughed and shook my head
and thought
NO FAT CHICKS
would want to ride with you any way
you could not hold even one of us
your arms would not know how to treasure such
a bounty, such bigness, such girth
then I sat down and cried
my shield of flesh does not protect me from the hurt
I am abjected
dejected
a reject from the assembly line of cookie cutter
magazine beauty standards that tell us to
hack off our extended bodies
to trim the fat before serving ourselves
to the scrutiny of others.
I weep and hold my heavy belly
like a basket of eggs
all my eggs in one basket
I have a womb in there you know
underneath the buttery basket
my giant egg of an abdomen
feels so heavy, and I wonder
am I holding the weight of a whole ‘nother person in my arms?
If I made it disappear could I hold you there instead?
Who is this that I hold?
the critical castrating father?
the controlling competitive mother?
the bully who teased me in school?
the baby I have yet to conceive?
How big was Mary when she rode into Bethlehem that night
and after she pushed out the savior of humankind
Did she keep some of her weight?
Did Jesus drink so longingly from the Mother of God
that he retained some baby-fat?
and if so, would we deny the world of even an ounce of it?
I cradle myself.
I’m swaddled in the guilt of my round mother shape
of my mountainous frame
my thighs like torpedoes not even worth shaving
NO FAT CHICKS
I think,
as the driver of that car…
some FAT guy
wearing a giant gold crucifix
his hair shiny and solid as the hood of his car
strides mightily toward his
chariot machismo
“Do you drive your mother in that car?”
I wonder as I get on with my day.
Copyright © 2003 Lisa Adele Sargese
Below is a poem Lisa wrote... I love it. How many of us feel the same as she did when we see such blinding discriminaton?
No Fat Chicks
by Lisa A Sargese
Rated "PG" by the Author.
No Fat Chicks by Lisa Sargese is a spoken word piece inspired by an insulting bumper sticker!
No Fat Chicks
I saw a bumper sticker…
3 simple words that floated like a turd
into the punch bowl of my day
it said,
NO FAT CHICKS
It was
a warning
a barricade
an insult to me and my big sisters.
I laughed and knew the car belonged to a man
the kind who drives an “I roc Z-28”
and hangs a Playboy-bunny air freshener from
his rearview mirror.
I knew it did not belong to a lesbian
a big fat earth-mother with rolling hills
of flesh,
Flesh that holds the greasy yellow remnants
of rice and beans and jugs of wine consumed
with joy amongst friends.
I knew it did not belong to a housewife,
an oversized mother of 3
who kept her weight after the second baby,
who drives the kids to school
then smokes Marlboro lights
while she watches Pokemon underwear slosh
around in the soapy waters
of a front load washer at the local laundromat.
I knew it did not belong to an overweight teenager
who self-consciously dresses in black so as to darken her figure
and keep herself hidden from the penetrating eyes of her peers.
And yet
those three words belong to all of us
the throw aways
the not-good-enoughs
the too bigs
who would not be welcomed into that driver’s world
NO FAT CHICKS
means “no means no”
No,
fat chicks are like me
the carriers of extra weight
the burdens of our emotional distress stuffed away
with the comfort of chocolate, and sugar and crunchy bags of carbs
the survivors of too many diets that ruined our organs
and malnourished us so badly.
Deprived of acceptance we starved, then binged, then starved
then binged and eventually gave up the struggle
and accepted our place outside the
cars of the handsome, shallow young men who will only look at the
girls with flat plains for stomachs
horizons easily seen,
landscapes easily navigated
hips that hold no secrets, only bones.
I love my skinny sisters
their bodies are as sacred and beautiful as any other
woman’s
yet they hold privilege and favor
they can ride in any car
there will never be a bumper sticker banning them, telling them
in no uncertain terms, that they are not wanted because of their size.
I laughed and shook my head
and thought
NO FAT CHICKS
would want to ride with you any way
you could not hold even one of us
your arms would not know how to treasure such
a bounty, such bigness, such girth
then I sat down and cried
my shield of flesh does not protect me from the hurt
I am abjected
dejected
a reject from the assembly line of cookie cutter
magazine beauty standards that tell us to
hack off our extended bodies
to trim the fat before serving ourselves
to the scrutiny of others.
I weep and hold my heavy belly
like a basket of eggs
all my eggs in one basket
I have a womb in there you know
underneath the buttery basket
my giant egg of an abdomen
feels so heavy, and I wonder
am I holding the weight of a whole ‘nother person in my arms?
If I made it disappear could I hold you there instead?
Who is this that I hold?
the critical castrating father?
the controlling competitive mother?
the bully who teased me in school?
the baby I have yet to conceive?
How big was Mary when she rode into Bethlehem that night
and after she pushed out the savior of humankind
Did she keep some of her weight?
Did Jesus drink so longingly from the Mother of God
that he retained some baby-fat?
and if so, would we deny the world of even an ounce of it?
I cradle myself.
I’m swaddled in the guilt of my round mother shape
of my mountainous frame
my thighs like torpedoes not even worth shaving
NO FAT CHICKS
I think,
as the driver of that car…
some FAT guy
wearing a giant gold crucifix
his hair shiny and solid as the hood of his car
strides mightily toward his
chariot machismo
“Do you drive your mother in that car?”
I wonder as I get on with my day.
Copyright © 2003 Lisa Adele Sargese
