unhide-able by Elizabeth Acevedo

Updated: May 3



I am unhide-able.


Taller than even my father, with what Mami has always said was “a little too much body for such a young girl.” I am the baby fat that settled into D-cups and swinging hips so that the boys who called me a whale in middle school now ask me to send them pictures of myself in a thong.

The other girls call me conceited. Ho. Thot. Fast.

When your body takes up more room than your voice you are always the target of well-aimed rumors, which is why I let my knuckles talk for me. Which is why I learned to shrug when my name was replaced by insults.


I’ve forced my skin just as thick as I am.

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