Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Poetry”

The Seas of You

I try to draw a breath
but my lungs won’t expand
to allow it

A wet veil has been
placed about my head
and it threatens to cut off
the life force of air

Swimming in your seas
has left me with a fear of drowning

“Test the waters you fool,” says my chastising voice. “Never dive in head first. When are you going to learn your lesson?”

But all is lost in the abyss
my ears are covered with water
and blackness begins to swirl around me

Skin Hunger

Like a blind person
I want to explore every inch of your skin
and commit it to memory
I want to taste your tattoos with my tongue
and bury my nose in your neck
so I can inhale the scent of you
and feel the goosebumps my lips create
as I brush them down your back
fingertips feather light
following the trail my lips make
grazing your ass with my hands
stopping only to grip your thighs
and feel the cord of muscle within
completing my journey
by pressing my nakedness
against yours
absorbing the rhythms of your body
through osmosis
so I can carry the song of you with me
wherever I go

False Gods

I gave you too much of my truth
I presented you my soul stripped bare
like a communion wafer
laid upon your tongue
so you could devour
the very essence of me

And you chewed me up
and spit me out
and picked your teeth
with my bones

What gave you the right
to preach your gospel
while I tossed
my coins of devotion
into your collection plate
only to have you
lay waste to me
as I knelt down before you

You are the worst kind of deity
a devil in disguise
and I refuse to worship you

The Fat Bottom Bard

Recently I decided to shake some shit up. No, not a martini. My blogging. But now I’m really thirsty for some reason.

I was getting very frustrated about my blogging stats. I’m not a stat whore or anything, but my views have really dropped. Like dropped down to where they were when I first started blogging. Like low. Like practically non-existent.

So I talked to My Man about it. My Man is a blogger too, has some pretty impressive stats, and I’m not just talking about in his pants. Seriously, he’s working on being uber famous and some day we’re going to have a beach house and a maid and a huge bathtub because of it.

The conversation went a little something like this:

FBG: My stats suck. Like not suck in a good way (blow job reference), but in a bad way.

MM: Sweet Cheeks, don’t take this the wrong way, but honestly, your blog is a clusterfuck. You’ve got shit about blow jobs and sex toys and funny shit mixed in with sappy shit. I think it just confuses the shit out of people.

FBG: But Stud Muffin, I’m confusing as shit. It’s an accurate representation of me.

MM: That’s for damn sure my Cock Sucking Angel, but unlike me, most people don’t want their minds blown by your eclecticness on a regular basis. Your funny shit is funny, and your sappy shit is good, but it just doesn’t work all in one place.

FBG: My Amazing Meat Pony, I think you’re right. I hate to admit it, because you’re right about a lot of things, but I really think you’re right about my clusterfuck blog.

Okay, so maybe the conversation didn’t go EXACTLY like that, but you get the drift right?

The result of that, after some contemplation and heel dragging, is The Fat Bottom Bard. No longer shall my Fat Bottom Girl followers have to suffer from me waxing poetic when they only come here looking for a good dick story!

And no longer will those who might enjoy only my poetry and prose have to suffer my filthy sailor mouth. Well shit, no promises on that actually, because I know some of my poetry will have a lot of fucking cussing in it.

Either way, follow one, follow both, follow none. I must follow my muse wherever he takes me, and usually it’s straight into the dregs of hell, so buckle up boys and girls, it’s always a bumpy ride when a Fat Bottom Girl is driving.

My Name is Alice

PhotoCredit: shanegallagher.deviantart.com

PhotoCredit: shanegallagher.deviantart.com

Sinking
Falling
Flailing

Down the rabbit hole I go

I’m late, I’m late
for a very important date
of which I have no plan to keep
because only darkness abides there

Drink me,
Eat me,
make me play croquet and drink tea
which I prefer iced
with a sane hatter
though they’re so few and far between

Will that particular caterpillar
ever become a butterfly?
Will what’s in that hookah
make all my troubles disappear?

Off with my head! Off with my head!
the only solution to stop all those crazy thoughts
from becoming things

You! There!
my King of Hearts,
smile at me like a Cheshire Cat
and wake me from my slumber
there’s no judgment in your world
where you feed me tasty morsels
to make me feel (abby) normal again
lest I drown in my own tears

tongue speak

your tongue shall speak volumes

I eagerly await your recitations

syllables, meter, the morphology of it all

has me spewing jargon and expletives

the pitch and intonation of varying resonance

as you

articulate
pronunciate
narrate

syntax
the fuck out of me
with your literacy

you sir, are a cunning linguist

your particular sort of speech
music to the very core of my being

there shall never be anย oral moratorium between us

speak

‘rithmetic

youmewe

 

 

 

 

 

 

and sometimes I can sum my feelings up for you
quickly and neatly
in a tiny space
with few words

and other times long addition isn’t enough
and I need an abacus
because no matter how I try
there are never enough words that will factor in
what I feel for you

and the silly school girl in me
that doesn’t even like math
believes
you + me = all I’ll ever need

Requiem for a Rainy Day

rain

The rain cascades down the window

flooding me with want

of you

of a quilt

of the feeling of safety and peaceย so easily foundย in the crook of your arm

Morning Coffee

And all I want right now is to be sitting
Here
In this chair
With you across from me
Watching the sun rise
Talking about everything and nothing
As the cool breeze wafts the scent of the neighbor’s honeysuckle past us
Knowing that love is in the little things

image

Can’t You Smell That Smell?

And the shortest distance between two points

is as the crow flies

so I wait for wings to form

make me a bird and let me fly

far, far away

but no amount of pleading with a non-existent god or goddess

can make it happen

so I’m leaving on a jet plane

to get a rocky mountain high, the rocky mountain way

I couldn’t get much higher

if I was huffing the scent of your excellence

while standing 40 feet in the air with you

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