Fat Bottom Girl Said What

It's not about the ass, it's about the attitude!

I Hope I Am Not You

I can’t take it. . .I can’t take one more day of it. . .people and their righteousness. . .believing their way is the only way and their ideals should be everyone elses. . . and morals where did the morals go. . .you said you’re a Christian. . .that’s what you claim to be. . . that’s what all those fucking memes you post say. . . and you lecture Christianity and “God’s love” only to turn around and judge and judge and judge. . . your fear is showing. . .your dirty, disgusting fear. . . turned outside in you feel the need to ejaculate your fear on everyone. . . you think you know so much. . . your anger drives you to a place you might not recognize. . .you think keeping them all at arm’s length will save you. . .how foolish of you to think the enemy doesn’t walk among us already. . .just send them there or there or anywhere but here. . .I’ll send money or clothes or anything but just don’t make me face my fears. . .but you don’t send money and you don’t send clothes. . .and you continue to live in your little house of fear while expecting the sons and daughters and mothers and fathers to keep your doorstep safe. . . to cast themselves upon your purported enemy. . .never once considering the fact they might not withstand what is dished out. . .to shine a light so you can try to block out the dirty filthy truth. . .which is that Americans aren’t all so nice and kind. . .and look closely because how many of you would turn a blind eye to murder and rape and the destruction of cultures. . . just because it might keep the wolf of fear at bay. . .look in the mirror and try to see the person you really are. . . try to see the person you might be if wars of religious righteousness were being fought on this red white and blue soil of ours. . .what would you do to protect the child you pushed from inside of you. . .where would you run when all doors close in your face. . . because you my dear are a filthy American and you are guilty by association




*The recent attacks on Paris and the plight of the Syrian refugees weighs heavy on my mind.  My Facebook feed has been bombarded with it, and people have sickened me with their rhetoric.  I spoke to a friend about it this morning, and walked away from the conversation more emotional and confused than I was before.  There are so many aspects of these issues, and conversations regarding them could go on forever.  I felt the need to write this and release some of the thoughts and feelings in me.  It’s not meant to be anti-American, or pro-Obama, or to enrage or incite.  It’s just meant to help me deal with the fact I must learn to live in a world, surrounded by people who can’t place themselves in another’s shoes, because they’re too angry and frightened to allow it. 


and banish these ghosts
from that which is my mind

Sage burnt
does not chase them away
nor salt at the thresholds

Only one pair of arms
shall perform the exorcism
I seek
with incantations whispered into my soul

an arid wasteland

lead my parched heart to an oasis before it dies of thirst

i have sand coursing through my veins

i cough dust and choke on the inhumanity of man

as i wash down the deceit with dirt

my body an empty shell

filled with the salt of the Dead Sea

bring me water on your tongue

for my shriveled soul


#NoBraDay – No Way


3:30 am – sling tits over side of bed, step on tit getting out of bed, sling tits over shoulders

3:32 am – dip tits in toilet while sitting down for the morning pee

3:35 am – get on treadmill for morning jog, try to hold tits up, but trip over tits and bang face on treadmill resulting in 2 black eyes

4:00 am – shower, put on makeup to cover up 2 black eyes, and try to decide on outfit that camouflages tits minus bra

4:30 am – make breakfast, burn nipple on burner

4:40 am – sit down to scrambled eggs and cheese, burn other nipple in hot cheese

5:00 am – stop at convenience store for gas, get out of car, slam tit in door, remove tit from door, attempt to pump gas and get other tit caught in squeeze handle, finally get tit loose when tank is full

5:15 am – go back home and put fucking bra on, because what’s the fucking point of this day?

I wrote this, obviously, with my tongue in my cheek.  Breast cancer is a serious thing, but I don’t for one second believe that walking around all day with my tits drooping is going to bring awareness to breast cancer, anymore than guys walking around with their bollocks hanging out would bring attention to testicular cancer.

Honestly, I feel #NoBraDay is merely another way to sexualize boobs, and cloud the issue.

Men get to grow their facial hair to bring awareness to men’s cancers, but women should run around with their nipples showing to remind everyone that boobs can kill?

Boobs are many things—they’re sexual, they’re functional, they’re beautiful.  They come in many shapes and sizes.  And they can be deadly, just like so many other areas on a woman.

Ladies, be kind to your body and yourself, and get regular check-ups and mammograms.  Guys, remind your ladies to take care of themselves because you want them around not only for the long haul, but to run their fingers through your beard during #Movember.

Harsh Realities

I knew the minute you held my hand

your fingers didn’t intertwine with mine
you didn’t grab it like you never wanted to let it go
it felt awkward
like it was difficult for our palms to be touching
foreign and out of place
your hand was an intruder
it didn’t belong

after all that time
months spent loving your from afar

I knew the minute you held my hand

you didn’t really love me

Crimson Cloak

You were the worst kind of wolf in sheep’s clothing

cleverly concealing your incisors

distracting with gallantry and double speak

drawing me ever closer to the

quilt of lies and chaos under which you laid

“Let me soothe you”

“I am not like all the others”

“Feel safe with me beautiful”

“I love you”

What big lies you have!

lies which swallowed me whole

sucking me into their vortex

spinning me ’round and ’round

threatening to drown me

and silence my inner knowing

Me, ingesting my doubt

instead of spewing it out so I wouldn’t aspirate on it

You, being the wolf you are

saw all the goodies in the basket I carried

and knew all the right words to

make me relinquish them

Whatever was your purpose?

except to stroke your big bad canis lupus ego

Eventually the woodsman will catch up with you

you looter and plunderer

and cast a downfall upon you

the likes of which

not even your pack will be able to rescue you from

I, walk away

to face another day

wrapping my crimson cloak tighter round


to never be hoodwinked by a wolf again




pick pick pick

at it


pull it apart

threads woven







holes remain

which you hope can be


Life Lesson #564

The things you said

Or all the things you didn’t say

In the end

Didn’t make a damn bit of difference

It was what you did

Or all the things you didn’t do

That did.

So when all was said


All was done

You weren’t the one

**Note to self:  Actions speak louder than words. Always.  If you’re important to him, he’ll find the time.

The Poison Pen

Well, it happened today, and I have to say I’m just a bit excited. This uncouth, somewhat raunchy, fat bottom girl got her very first poem published in an actual publication, not just something I printed out of my garage on that old mimeograph machine.

It’s the first time I’ve ever had anything published, and I’m so glad it’s on Elephant Journal. Have you ever checked out Elephant Journal? It’s got a little bit of everything–poetry, astrology, relationship advice, healthy living, yoga–really, just a plethora of knowledge from tons of different authors.  Best part is, it’s almost free.  I say almost, because you can read three articles each day for free. I could never stop at three, so I bought a subscription for a mere $13 for a whole year, and it’s been some of the best money I’ve ever spent.

But without further ado, please, I’m begging you, go read, share with your friends, stay to read a couple more articles. Most of all, enjoy, as I’m hoping this is a first in a long line of published writing for me.


It’s the Little Things

Coffee cups stained from daily use
and the passage of time
minute cracks of the porcelain surface allowing the
infiltration of the smoky dark liquid

So much meaningless discourse meaning everything,
shared while clutching these cups
now warming arthritic fingers, tangled by tasks and touches
and years which have slipped by, often without notice

How many more times
will we fill the cups before one morning
One shall remain empty

*Posted originally on The Fat Bottom Bard.

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