My name is Tanka,
Tanka Jahari.
I received something today, something unpleasant--
An entire pizza.
What would I do with an entire pizza?
I couldn't just eat it. I was in the lobby,
Surrounded. I couldn't accept it.
What would people think?
If I ate an entire pizza by myself?
“He's so gluttonous.”
I couldn't turn it down.
They would turn up their noses.
“How wasteful!”
“What about the hungry people?”
I would be a snob and imprudent.
But what if I do eat it? I would be shamed
By the grease stains on my shirt,
And the stringing cheese, ripping apart--
The same as me,
By the eyes in the lobby.
The crumbs fall, as the shame floods into my head.
Would they see me as a mess?
A fool in clown shoes,
And makeup that can’t hide the truth,
Stomach jutting out as I waddle away.
Am I not allowed to indulge?
Would they laugh?
Call me names?
As if I am not enough to join in on their games?
Is it wrong to be a mess,
To feel joy?
Will I be discarded like a McDonald's toy?
Am I a villain
For taking up space
In a world that likes to make you think
That you need to shrink?
The room is unnerving as they wait for my demise.
The pizza is cold,
On the floor it lies.
But the shame I feel is boiling inside.
I want to erupt.
I am Tanka Jahari.
And maybe I would order a whole pizza for myself,
With no shame, no mask, in the safety of my delph.
Tanka Jahari.
I received something today, something unpleasant--
An entire pizza.
What would I do with an entire pizza?
I couldn't just eat it. I was in the lobby,
Surrounded. I couldn't accept it.
What would people think?
If I ate an entire pizza by myself?
“He's so gluttonous.”
I couldn't turn it down.
They would turn up their noses.
“How wasteful!”
“What about the hungry people?”
I would be a snob and imprudent.
But what if I do eat it? I would be shamed
By the grease stains on my shirt,
And the stringing cheese, ripping apart--
The same as me,
By the eyes in the lobby.
The crumbs fall, as the shame floods into my head.
Would they see me as a mess?
A fool in clown shoes,
And makeup that can’t hide the truth,
Stomach jutting out as I waddle away.
Am I not allowed to indulge?
Would they laugh?
Call me names?
As if I am not enough to join in on their games?
Is it wrong to be a mess,
To feel joy?
Will I be discarded like a McDonald's toy?
Am I a villain
For taking up space
In a world that likes to make you think
That you need to shrink?
The room is unnerving as they wait for my demise.
The pizza is cold,
On the floor it lies.
But the shame I feel is boiling inside.
I want to erupt.
I am Tanka Jahari.
And maybe I would order a whole pizza for myself,
With no shame, no mask, in the safety of my delph.
