Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “March, 2017”


It’s been raining steadily for hours, and we should be playing hooky and lying in bed under that old quilt my grandma made that’s worn to a softer than down finish after years of use.

But you’re not here, and I have no idea where you are because I don’t know who you are even though I think about you so much you would think I would’ve dreamed you into life by now.

So instead of cuddling and conversations, I’ll keep trudging through my work day and my life like some automaton always wanting there to be more to this mundane existence but too scared to hope for it for fear it will never exist.


Maritime Moratorium



“Go with the flow,” you said,

as though it’s easy to ride the current

of these feelings I bleed.

The clouds of my mind obscure the North Star,

I have no compass to guide me,

and I find myself lost at sea.

No one sends a search party,

when no one misses you,

and your SOS is a silent scream.



Cell Level

Your home. . .

is in the curve of my hip

and between my thighs

and in the dip of my collarbone

and behind my 5th and 6th left ribs

and when you go (because they all go)

you will be imprinted in my cells




Peggy Gets a New Kelvinator



If that son-of-a-bitch thinks he can buy me off with a new refrigerator, he’s got another think coming.  I know he’s been doing the hanky panky with his secretary because he comes home every night smelling faintly of Shalimar, which I’m sure he bought her, and “Love That Red” lipstick on his collar, which I don’t wear, because that’s only for whores. That cad will get his tonight when I serve him up a little bit of rat poison in his pre-dinner martini, while I’m putting the finishing fluorishes on that new Wieneroni Casserole I’ve loaded down with strychnine.  That asshole will never know what hit him.


The crumbs you gave me

weren’t enough to sate the hunger of my orphan soul

Too long without proper sustenance

I gorged myself on the tidbits you dispersed

But my stomach turned in on itself

your lies burning holes in the lining

Starving to death is better

than trying to digest someone’s insincerities











A Wake

I am too rough around the edges and would cut your soft heart

leaving you to bleed out among the detritus

empty bottles

plastic shopping bags

in the road side ditch


But my heart is kind so I would feel bad

and run back to apply pressure to your wound

but it would be too late because my words are too sharp and piercing


So I have no choice but to walk away

and leave your carrion for the vultures

who will feast on the tenderness of your kindness and respect

which my self-hatred would not allow me to stomach






An Aperture to Love

if you died today

my eulogy for you would merely be me listing all the reasons I loved your lips


the way the spoke with kindness and respect

the way they curved up at the edges with laughter

the way they kissed with passion

the way they emitted sighs of contentment


but your lips were merely a figment of my imagination and the stuff dreams are made of




Incendiary Devices

I piled your platitudes in the middle of  the floor

and set fire to them

It’s surprising how well words burn

when laced with lies

Incendiary devices meant to ignite passion

burnt to ash with the strike of a match

You were merely another flash in the pan

and I’m left scalded



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