Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Bad Poetry”

Apparitions

Photo Credit:  From the album cover "Sleeping with Ghosts" by Placebo

Photo Credit: From the album cover “Sleeping with Ghosts” by Placebo

sometimes when I turn around
I almost see them
just out of the corner of my eye
ghosts
of your past and mine
they show themselves
then retreat
but always return again
at times they creep in
like a fog
lying close to the ground
making it difficult to walk
growing in size and rising
eventually making it difficult to talk
as they choke us with memories
of our pasts
intending to haunt the present
and the future too
ghosts

Cyclones

Inside the Cyclone

Take me home Toto

back to the firm, hard ground

dirt packed and cracked beneath my feet

Be a good dog

and stop this whirling and spinning

in my brain that causes me such anguish on this balmy Kansas day

Those nasty little flying monkeys

of doubt and insecurity and distrust

won’t let me have any peace

I really want to be a good witch

with a pretty dress and a sparkling tiara and a lilting voice and golden curls

But instead I see a hook nose and a tight-lipped mouth reflected back

when I gaze into my crystal ball

I pedal faster, faster, faster

Never fast enough to outrun the cyclone swirling through my mind

Separation Anxiety

I am floundering

Tripping

Stumbling

Falling

Not wanting to rise again

I can’t think about it because

I get a lump in my throat

My eyes threaten to cry

I feel sick to my stomach

I am uncertain

Unsure

Unstable

I don’t know how to make it through this

I will pretend

Masquerade

Bluff

Take so many deep breaths

That I shall eat up all the oxygen in the room

In an attempt to be okay

 

 

Tipton Terrors

I am going to grace you with another bit of bad poetry. You can thank Kira over at Wrestling Life, for the inspiration, due to her Wordle Wednesdays she recently started. It’s kind of fun, and gets the old brain box ticking, eyes searching to see what interesting words lie within the wordle, and what kind of bad poetry can be written from them! Enjoy, or just detest me for posting some more of this horrendous shit. Either way, Tipton is an actual, primarily Catholic town in Kansas. Freaky shit when it shows up in the wordle, huh?

Tipton,
another small,
constricted,
primarily Catholic,
Kansas town,

wheat waves,
accusing eyes,
words heard,
bowels constricted,
desperate reality,
avoid guiltily,

“Sir, . . . Sir. . the flight’s at the gate, you can depart the plane now.”

Ode to Friday Night

What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the neon of my favorite beer sign,

and the glow of the jukebox!

The temptress, thy name be Miller light, she beckons me,

in her tall, frosty can of blue and gold,

Bring me to your lips my sweet,

Drink of my goodness,

Cleanse yourself of Monday through Thursday,

Wash it all away with my hops and barley.

The strife of your week can be seen upon your countenance,

it can be heard in the lyrics of your voice,

as you render a hearty belch to the gods of beer!

Oh, how I love thee!

Let me count the ways!

You never fail to let me down with your frosty goodness,

You take all my troubles away and leave me with wit and the ability to make merriment wherever I go!

You give me the ability to see things differently than they really are,

almost as if I was bespectacled!

And every once in awhile you cause me to ply a man with my feminine wiles and get me laid.

Fuck, I love you beer!!

Understanding Through Immersion

Don’t you understand
that in order to find my way out of it
I must immerse myself in it
I can’t just float on the surface of it
I must be completely submerged
almost drowning in it
unable to make it up for air
lungs burning from lack of oxygen
fighting and flailing upward
and breaking free from it
at the last possible moment
It’s the only way
I know how to live
By almost dying
each and every time
Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel things
So deeply

Hunting Lessons

Did I give you the ammunition?

That’s what it feels like right now.

Fuck, I feel like I almost loaded the damn gun for you!

I opened my big mouth and told you where the sweet spot was.

You know, right where you needed to aim for, if you wanted to shoot to kill.

So you took your shot, and you hit your target.

Would I expect any less out of a country boy like you?

You should be proud; one shot, one kill.

Maybe now you can have me stuffed and mounted.

You can hang me on your wall, so when all the other women come to fuck you they can see what a successful hunter you are.

Allowances

And the Universe spoke and said, “You’re not allowed happiness, don’t you know that?”

“I thought everyone deserved their fair share!” I shouted back at the Universe.

“The fair is some place you can ride the Tilt-A-Whirl and buy a funnel cake and look at cows. It’s not a thing.” said the the Universe.

“But other people get happiness, why can’t I have it?” I asked.

Exasperated, the Universe said, “Because you’re not allowed! Haven’t you figured this out yet? How many times do I have to repeat it? Forty-three years I’ve been telling you the same fucking thing, and you won’t listen! Why do you have to be so hard-headed?”

“I guess because I want it so badly, and because I’m so hard-headed,” I said, “And you, you’re a cruel asshole, showing me glimpses of happiness, and then taking it away! If I can’t have it, then why do you tempt me with it?”

“Because everyone should know what they’re missing,” he said with a cruel asshole grin.

Proximity

Space. . .
How much space do you need exactly?
Is halfway across town far enough?
Or is it relative,
And you only need space in your mind?
What is it about proximity that bothers you?
Does it now bother you that I know you so well,
Without knowing you that well?
Yes, that sort of thing tends to fuck with a person’s head
Doesn’t it?
It kind of fucks with my head too,
But it makes me want to be closer to you,
Not farther away.
Here’s your space. . . .

One Shakespearean Sentence

Me thinketh you doth drink too much
That you drown whatever needs drowning in numerous cans of Bud Light
Often until you slur the expletives pouring from your mouth

Jovial you are
Storyteller you hold my attention
You bring laughter to my life

You scare the shit out of me

Are you one big, walking red flag?

Should I turn and walk the other way for fear
You are just like him and one day the laughter
Will have turned to harsh words spoken on the breath of beer
Unable to control the disgust you feel for me
Because I am strong and you are weak

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