Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “September, 2017”


She doubted the existence of luck, but was acutely aware if it was somewhere out there in the universe, she never got any of it.

Especially when it came to men. Her ex-husband had cheated on her with one of her best friends when she was pregnant with their son, and every man she’d been with since had cheated on her too.

She wanted love, but she didn’t know how to get it. She thought love had more to do with luck than anything else, and considering her track record, she often wondered if she was meant to be alone the rest of her life.

Paper Heart, Gossamer Skin

Like a butterfly

wings laden with rain

I’ve forgotten how to fly

My paper heart

no longer sings

the tune of the hopeful

My skin gossamer

a study in contradictions

longs for touch but fears the pain of fingertips

The siren song of eternal sleep

tries to seduce my broken body

but my autonomic nervous system

refuses to heed the call

(pump, breathe, digest)

an endless cycle which bores me

“Is this all there is?”

I scream into the void

A Husk

Necrosis has set in

my vena cava


is no longer superior

my aorta a husk

left empty

as all tributaries to my heart

have run dry

Smoke blocks out the sunlight

food has no flavor

my words mere echoes

nothing holds joy

Blessings in disguise

for the end comes swiftly

and painless

Fortune Teller

I’m the girl with kaleidoscope eyes

and tornadoes in my brain

Moths beat their powdery wings

within my ribcage

My skin has become vellum

tomes of poetry incarcerated in my heart

The keys to my kingdom dangle

just out of my reach

My life remains a delicious torture

as foretold by the gypsy in the ragged carnival tent

Where is the man in boots she spoke of

He remains forever hidden in the shadows

of my melancholy

Stolen Moments

Do you remember

when we’d fuck wherever we could

and stolen moments were all we had

and neither of us ever spoke of love

except to know it wasn’t meant for us

even though we both felt it

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Sparklebumps: The Mother Version

Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.


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Inky blackness, a yawning void ~

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πŸƒ Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. πŸƒ

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insert witticism

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The musings of a scorpion who would have been an eagle


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