Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

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.






The Creature Within

The rumble of the thunder reminds me

that I used to be fierce

I felt the fire in my belly

and I was strong and unafraid

How long has it been now

since I was that person

I can’t recall

She still resides within me

and rears her head

now and then

only to disappear again

when the anxiety returns


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




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