Fat Bottom Girl Said What

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

Water Safety

drowning-girl-sea-water-favim-com-112419-1

 

 

 

 

 

 

the water is closing in
but i keep flailing my arms
i try to will my legs to move
try to remind myself
that there are people who need me
i must fight to stay afloat
swim
i tell myself
swim
you pathetic, weak bitch
you haven’t survived this long
to go down without a fight
but
the shore is nowhere in sight
how can i save myself
if i can’t see the land
and
i wish you were here
to pull me out of the waves
but
the reality is
you can’t save me
you’re not my life preserver
or my personal flotation device
and
your own boat
threatens to capsize in stormy seas

 

 

*Originally posted on The Fat Bottom Bard

 

 

 

To My Son On His 15th Birthday

Son,

Today is your 15th birthday, and I’m very proud of the young man you’re becoming, but it doesn’t make me miss the little boy any less.

I miss your questions and your belief that I still had things to tell you, because it’s been replaced by you thinking you know it all and you have nothing left to learn from me, or the world.

I miss your smiles and your genuine joy at seeing me when I’d been away for short periods of time, because it’s been replaced by your seemingly nonchalant demeanor about us now being separated by miles.

I miss your little hand in mine and your excitement and readiness to go anywhere with me, as everything was always an adventure, because it’s been replaced by your attitude that nothing is ever much fun and you’d rather sit home and play video games or read.

I miss your snuggles and hugs and little boy smooches, because even now when you hug me you never squeeze me as tight as you did when you were little and uninhibited about showing affection.

But most of all, today I miss you because you’re halfway across the country and I can’t run into your room this morning yelling Happy Birthday and telling you once again about the day you were born and how it was the best day of my life.

Just so you know, I’ll always see that little boy every time I look in your face, even when you’re 40.

I love you!!!

Mom

 

 

Life Goes On

You’re engaged, and my stomach didn’t drop to my knees when I found out.

I experienced a momentary twinge of jealousy that it wasn’t me, then I remembered you asking me to send you dirty videos last June, shortly after you and she had done the “grown-up” thing and announced your relationship on Facebook, and the jealousy flew out the window to be replaced with pity for her.

 

Pity, because you’ll do the same thing to her that you did to me, and all of the other women who came before us. Maybe, you’re already doing it to her.

Soon enough she won’t have all the strokes your ego needs.  Her arm will be tired from patting you on the back all the time.  Her throat will be sore from constantly having to tell you what a great guy you are.

So then you’ll go in search of someone else to fill you up because you’ve never learned to do it for yourself.

Busker

The song of you

is stuck in my head

It resonates like a tuning fork

I hum another tune

but it is drowned out by your melody

I want you to take your one man band elsewhere

Get it off my street corner

so I can allow another man’s song

to replace your lyric

which was filled with fables and broken promises

 

 

 

one_man_band_by_felixgi

Photo Credit:  felixgi.deviantart.com

 

 

Warning Labels

warning

 

 

I lived in a walled fortress most of the time. . . with a moat. . .and a dragon.  But no knights.  My life doesn’t currently have, and has never had a knight, or a true partner.  Mind you, I know knights don’t exist in anyone’s world except Walt Disney’s, and truth be told, after the shit relationships I’ve subjected myself to, I should probably come with a warning label.

If any man ever happens to express interest in me again, here is what I would want him to read on my label:

  1. I don’t trust you. Most likely I will probably never fully trust you. If I come to trust you, it will be because you’ve backed up your words by deeds.
  2. Don’t ever think scaring me is funny.  It’s a trigger for me, and you might possibly be met with a slap to your face or a knee to the balls because I will feel as if I need to defend myself.
  3.  No yelling. EVER. Yelling sets off an immediate panic attack in me, and then when the yelling is done, I immediately dissolve into a puddle of tears.
  4. PTSD.  I have it, though I hate to admit it.  There’s no shame in having it, but I constantly try to minimize the situations I was in and deny that I have it.  It will rear its ugly head, and you will need to love me through it, or you will need to leave.
  5. Touch.  I will need to sense your presence before you touch me, or I will be startled, even if you’ve never put your hands on me in anger. I can be a very affectionate person, but it will take a little time.
  6. Jealousy.  Don’t get psycho jealous with me, because I’ve been there and I won’t do that again.  It is possible I might experience some jealousy and read something into situations which are harmless because I’ve been cheated on numerous times and lied to too many times to count.  See #1 for further clarification.
  7. Guilt.  Because I’ve been told numerous times that everything that goes bad in an asshole’s life is my fault, I still have a hard time believing that it isn’t, so I will always feel like shit is my fault.  I will always assume worst case scenario in every situation and will prepare myself for the blame, so don’t be an asshat–you own what’s yours, and I will own what’s mine, and we will forgive each other and move on.

 

I think this about covers the basics.  If you’re still here and have an interest in understanding more about me, then maybe you give a shit and you’re interested in sticking around.  If not, that’s cool too, and I get it.  The rollercoaster isn’t for everyone.

 

 

Battle Weapons

sing me to sleep

your arms wrapped around me

 

kiss my cheek

my brow

as passionately as you kiss my lips

 

show me that hands are made for kindness

and words are meant to elevate

 

and maybe, just maybe

my sharp edges will be smoothed

I will lay down my weapons

 

and allow you a glimpse inside

 

before you turn tail and run

 

The Theory of Disease

apathy has settled in my heart

and in my bones

 

like a rare form of cancer

it eats at every cell of my being

 

it burrows into my marrow

consuming all I believed to be good

 

about you

about me

about the world

 

indifference is a sheath for my feelings

numbing any twinges of caring

but never halting the progression of my sickness

 

it will eat me up from the inside and leave nothing

but a shell

 

it was you

and you

and you

and even you

who gave me this disease

who left me with these symptoms

 

indicative of a greater malady

 

which left untreated

can bring about

the downfall of society

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speech Impediments

This time last year, I loved you, and thought there was still a small chance you loved me.

Now I wonder if you ever loved me, or if it was just easy to type because the words in print, held no weight.

It always seemed when we talked that you would have trouble forming the words in your mouth, and I don’t remember you ever saying it first, but only in response to my telling you.

I’m not sure what hurt worse:  knowing you didn’t love me anymore, or the realization that you may have never loved me.

 

 

 

Ghost of Christmases Past

xmaspast

 

I hate the holidays.

For numerous reasons.

My parents divorced years ago, when I was around 12, and that is when my hatred of the holidays began.

Up until then, it had been presents, and aunts and uncles and cousins, and cinnamon applesauce salad, and grandmas and grandpa, and some damn ham, and crocheted ponchos for everyone.  Except the boys, of course.

After the Big D, referred to as “A.D.” at our house, meaning “After Divorce”, everything changed.

A.D., we would spend Christmas Eve with my mom, and then my dad would pick us up on Christmas morning to take us to our grandma and grandpa’s.

I remember the sick feeling I’d get in my stomach at having to leave my mom home alone.  I hated it, and would feel sad for her all day.

Even then I knew I never wanted to spend Christmas alone, while my imagined, future children went elsewhere, but oh, how things come to pass which we never expect.

Here I am, 30 plus years later, doing near the same thing: swapping holidays with my son’s father.

Every year, the closer it gets to the holidays, the more morose and irritable I seem to get.  I want to skip them altogether and go straight to the New Year, because I’ve given up on trying to schedule time with my limited number of family members, whose schedules don’t ever jive, because of divorces and remarriages and extended families and step-families.

I realized this morning, I think this hatred derives from the fact I’m being eaten up with jealousy when the holidays roll around.  I don’t have a husband, or a boyfriend, and my family seems scattered and all kinds of fucked up.

You sit over there with your Christmas card perfect spouse and kids, and their spouses, and maybe even a couple of grandkids running around at this point, and I hate you just a little bit.

I wonder why you deserve that family, and why I don’t.

All I ever wanted was to be a part of a big, loving family, and when I was really young, I thought that’s what I had. But then I grew up.

I grew up and discovered those types of families are mostly just myth.

Like unicorns, they don’t exist.

Families are messy.

Parents give each other the cold shoulder, or make biting comments about the others’ appearance, or sometimes have affairs they scream about during late night drunken fights, or god forbid over Thanksgiving dinner.

Siblings argue because they don’t like their sister’s choice in a mate so they refuse to sit down at the same table and dine with them, or you find out your brother had sex with your wife.

Kids grow up and are too busy to travel an hour or two to see their non-custodial parent, and when they’re forced to do it, they’re pissed off because they can’t be with their friends over Christmas break and they make everyone’s life miserable because of it.

And step-families become the first priority, and you will always have to take a back seat to their plans, and often figure out excuses not to attend combined functions because you don’t fit into their mix, and all you really want is just a few moments alone with your dad and your brother to make fart jokes and laugh.

Life in general, is messy, and fucked up, and complicated.

But right here, right now, I know this:

In 5 days I will drive to the airport to pick up my little boy, who now stands 6’2, and has a booming tenor voice, and who will soon be 15 years old, and in that moment, and the 10 days following that, I will be happy.

I will be happy because my boy is sleeping in his bed down the hall from me once again, and for 10 days, everything will be right with the world, regardless of what Christmas plans are made or kept, or how fucked up our family is.

I wish the same for you, and your fucked up family.

Peace on Earth and pass the vodka.

 

 

Flashbacks

I hear the frantic yelling and I look up to see her attempting to usher kids out the front door, with tears running down her cheeks, and shame and fear written on her face.

An icy hand grips my intestines and squeezes because the scene is all too familiar.  I have lived this life.

I ask if she wants me to call anyone for her. Does she have a place to go and take the children.

She tells me she can go to her mom’s as she tries to get a pair of socks on the bare feet of her young daughter.

I stand and I wait while she gets her purse from the house; the children’s father throws it out the door at her.

I’m ready to call the cops if I see him make any gesture towards her. He slams the door.

She leads the children down the steps to the car.  Two are without coats, all are without shoes, and one is without socks.

I tell her it’s okay, I have been there.  She doesn’t respond and I understand the embarrassment.

The little boy looks at me and I tell him it’s going to be okay, and he smiles.

I smile back.

 

 

* This took place last night as I left my mother’s house.  It brought back too many memories. It left me with a huge rush of adrenaline–fight or flight terror.  It left me grateful I am no longer living that life, and even more grateful my son never saw the really bad stuff.  It also left me knowing she would go back to him, and I was right, her car was there this morning.

 

 

 

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