Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

What A Good Year For The Roses

You open the door

and the bones fall to the floor

clattering and clicking against each other

the thigh bones

the shin bones

So many skeletons

you’re immersed up to your knee bones

Your eyes search me with a quizzical look

I respond in my best Aunt Agnes voice

“Oh my! What a mess!”

(I’ve made of my life)

I know any minute I shall hear the crush

of brittle bone

beneath the heels of your boots

as your long gait leads you

down the hallway 

and out the door of my heart

But you lift your foot

and begin to pulverize

years of bad decisions and pain and disappointment

and you take my hand

and I join in

doing a shuffle ball change

so I can hear the satisfying crunch 

beneath my tap shoes

Then you ask for a broom

and a dust pan

and sweep up the shards of my life

and lead me to the garden

where you sprinkle them around the base of the roses


And today it seems nothing will satisfy

but you

I pace

cross my legs and swing my foot

run my fingers through my hair

habitually dart my tongue back and forth over my bottom teeth

all of me

is seeking the sensation of you

my mind

cannot be silent

it searches for

the feel of your fingertips on my skin

the taste of you on my lips

the soothing tones of your voice

I want to

fall into you

and get lost for a few hours

bodies perspiring in tangled sheets

and the sound of your heartbeat in my ear



Soiled Soul

The dirt coats me

by now it is embedded into my pores

How long it’s been there

I know not


Perhaps years

Rivulets of a thousand heartbreaks

cut pathways through it

I journey miles

in search of a river or stream

to wash it away

But all I’m met with 

is a wasteland

littered with corpses

of those who were not strong enough

to travel my path

Autumn Equinox


Photo Credit:  Linda Storm



The corn stalks have withered

and rustle in the wind

summoning the crows with their song

The buzzards circle overhead

sensing the death of my hope

Nothing kept them from their prey

until you stepped from the shadows

and scattered them

forbidding them to return

by lighting a lamp

in the window of my soul




Chest Compressions

I’ll drink through it

I think to myself

and when I’m drowning

in my pool of despair

and near death

I’ll beat on my chest

until I can start my heart again

until I can feel the pounding of it beneath my ribcage

and hear the whoosh of pumping blood in my ears








Cool rain drenching hot asphalt

created dancing ribbons of steam

accentuated by my headlights

and for some reason you were there

a thought in my head

and the songs on the radio

took on a whole new meaning


Tear Stained Pillowcases

I dreamt of you last night

I knew it was you

even though you were thinner than you are now

You took me in your arms and held me tight

and the minute my head was upon your chest

I broke down sobbing

but you didn’t let go

you kept holding me

while the tears streamed down my face

and I gulped air to fuel the sobs that kept coming

I kept crying until I woke myself

wondering why you feel like my safe place

when you barely acknowledge my existence

The Deception of Dreams

The mind defies

and deceives

You come to me in my dreams

and you

you’re there too

and I don’t want to think about you

or you

I want to erase the memories

of all of you

the hurtful words

the fear

the black eye

But my mind won’t allow it

It pokes

it prods

it reminds

and recalls

I think of green pastures

with wildflowers dotting it

willing the beauty

to snuff out the pain you left

It doesn’t work


On Children

On Saturday my son flies back to Washington, where he has resided with his dad for the last 2 years, and I am already sad.

Even though it ripped my heart out to let him go live with his dad, it has turned out to be a very good thing.  He is maturing, and growing into the amazing young man I always knew he had the potential to be.  He just had to get past the anger.

Knowing he is where he needs to be doesn’t make it any easier to let him go, but letting our children go, is what we, as parents, all have to do at some point.

Years ago, before I had my son, I read Khalil Gabrin’s ‘The Prophet’ for the first time, and was impacted by the part ‘On Children’, and it continues to resonate with me.  My son will always be my son, but he is his own person, with his own thoughts and feelings, and his own life to live, and I will continue to remind myself of this as he boards that plane on Saturday.

On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.


The Agony of Defeat

my words fall on deaf ears

and you turn a blind eye toward them too


and even though I stick out like a sore thumb

I seem to blend in with the crowd

and no one notices me


in a world obsessed with perfection

I am no one’s ideal

and I am ugly to myself


Why must I allow outside sources to define me?


Post Navigation


the stories behind the pictures, and vice versa


Just my thoughts for all to behold

Book Snob


An Obvious Oblivion Blog

🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃





Lou Times Two

top knot wearin' mama to twin girls

Sweet Spell

A baking and dessert blog.

Tangled Up In Music

Music Reviews

Yeah, Another Blogger

An Arts-Filled And Tasty Jaunt Through Life

Budgie Bigelow's Blog

Finely crafted short fiction & stories

Annabel Vita

a little bit of this and a little bit of that

Even at Your Darkest

Seeking Beauty Beyond the Scars

insert witticism

The home of Emma O'Brien

shatteredtalon's Blog

The musings of a scorpion who would have been an eagle

Buffalo Tom Peabody's blog 2

The 9 Lives of Buffalo Tom Peabody, Gunther Tootie & Ignatius “IGGY” Rattlebottom-Bunn. NO AWARDS. please.


I blog now. I know, I can't believe it either.

Part-Time Monster

I eat books for breakfast.

The Reluctant Cat Owner's Journal

Gay humor writer writing about cats, cat care, life, and the adventures of being gay.

The Good Greatsby

The humor blog of Paul Johnson: He doesn't do it for the money. But he wouldn't object if you gave him some.

Stop Me If I Told You This...





All and Nothing


This blog is, in many ways, reflections of things that have happened, thoughts and ideas, possibilities and dreams. I'm not sure which direction it will go, the temptation is to let things go and see where the words take us . . join me, it should be an interesting ride

The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally

Here and now, with all of it.

Quirky Chrissy

Nobody Puts Chrissy in a Niche

Pattern$ oF R@nD0mNEsS

However random it might seem, everything in this world has a pattern

Musings of An Insomniac

Late night thoughts of a fool.