Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.


It was the smell of old beer exhaled from lungs passing across a dip of Skoal that brought it all back. . .

hands tightening around my throat

threatening to stop the flow of precious air

knowing that he thought so little of me

that he didn’t care whether I lived or died

and that if he killed me he would feel no remorse

because he would believe

until his last breath

permeated with the smell of Bud Light and chew

that I deserved it


I, Anomaly

I pull you towards me

while simultaneously

pushing you away

because I know nothing

of Newton’s laws

or the laws of love

and my heart is a

complicated equation

not even Will Hunting can make sense of

a mathematical matrix

of which

the product of all my exponential experiences

is just unequivocally me

a chemistry experiment

of atoms

and salts

and reactions even I can’t predict

gone haywire

yet living as

the most perfect ball of energy






my heart has been replaced

by a large stone

which sits heavy in my chest

pumping only doubt and denial



steeling my being

against the inevitable moment

when you decide

I’m not worth it




It’s frigid outside

just like it feels you are to me at times

I seek heat from you

the warmth of your words

and your body

though you often leave me

chilled to the bone

unsure if you will ever

bring me your fire again





Rush Hour


My mind is a crowded city street at rush hour




a gridlock of thoughts

caught in a traffic circle

going around

and around

and around

My mind searches for peace

dreams of vistas

where snow falls deep enough

to blot out all sound

a burning white spot in my brain

to erase the anxiety

which never seems to take a vacation day


Crazy Cocktails and Their Side Effects

A few days ago I cried uncle to the anxiety (with an undercoating of PTSD), which has plagued me for quite some time, and made an appointment to see my doctor.  I had recently talked to a few people about their struggles with anxiety, and the meds they take to help deal with it.  I don’t like medications, because I seem to be ultra-sensitive to some of them, plus most of them can exacerbate the exact thing we’re trying to get rid of, and that just makes no damn sense whatsoever.

My doctor knows I don’t like to take pills, and often has to convince me to try them, so when we sat down to talk on Monday, and I broke down in tears over my inability to deal with this fucking anxiety, he suggested Lexapro, an SSRI-anti-depressant, which is also supposed to have anti-anxiety properties.

I suggested Ativan, which he isn’t particularly fond of, but I had to admit to him that a friend had given me one to try during an anxiety attack, and it helped calm me down within 20-30 minutes.  And seriously, if you have anxiety, you know what blissful relief a reprieve from torturous cyclical thinking can be.

Needless to say, we compromised:  he would give me the Ativan for “as needed” situations, and I would try the Lexapro for a long term solution.

Now mind you, the last time I took an anti-depressant, it was something called Pristiq, which I had to stop taking because of the ridiculous cost of it, and I almost slit my wrists when I was trying to wean myself off of it. I literally locked myself in my bathroom, and called my mom to come over and talk me off the fucking ledge, because of that shit.  That’s when I said, “NO MORE!”.  Didn’t matter what came up, I would plow through depression without a pill, because I was never going to subject myself to worse depression from an anti-depressant.

Fast forward to 5 years later and two doses of Lexapro got me looking like the town meth whore with some damn teeth grinding and jaw clenching and my inability to keep my damn tongue still in my mouth.

What. The. Fuck.  *Google Lexapro and teeth grinding*

Sure enough, the meth mouth shuffle is one of the side effects of Lexapro.  So doc, I tried, but I’m not doing this shit.  I’m not going to keep walking around doing this, grinding my teeth down to stumps and giving myself migraines, in the hopes that the side effects will wear off.  If this is what happens after two doses, I don’t want to see what happens after a third, or a fourth.

At least I still have the Ativan to calm my brain, even if it doesn’t help stop looking like the town meth whore.



I Give Up

I’ve decided I can’t do it anymore.  As much as I hate taking any sort of prescription medication, I will go to my doctor next Monday morning, and prostrate myself at his feet and beg him to give me something to help my anxiety.  My psyche, and my body, feel ravaged by the effects of anxiety.  I worry I will never be able to have a successful relationship again, or I will irreparably damage the relationships I currently have, if I don’t do something.

Here’s hoping he hears my cry for help.

Don’t. . .

don't fall2.jpg

Halcyon Dreams

I want

a safe place to lay my head

your shoulder

your chest

the crook of your arm

I want

you to calm my mind with

your touch

your kiss

the sound of your heartbeat



Yesterday 2016. Today 1958?

Guess it’s time for me to don hose, heels, a dress, and pearls, and go on a manhunt for a guy who will marry me and keep me in the style I’m accustomed to.

I better practice my smile, and holding my tongue, because I’m sure my new husband will have no desire to hear “drivel” and “clap-trap” escape my lips.

He’ll say things to me like, “A woman’s place is in the bedroom and not in the boardroom”.

He will expect me to perfect a bundt cake, and have his martini and slippers waiting for him when he walks through the door in the evening from a hard day at the office.

At night, he’ll kiss me chastely on the cheek before we retire to our separate twin beds, me still in full makeup and wearing lipstick, where I will proceed to cry myself to sleep because I know he’s screwing his secretary, and because I’m so unfulfilled.






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