Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Poetry & Prose”

Maritime Moratorium

lost

 

“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

fridge.jpg

 

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.

Malnourished

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

 

 

Bored Games

you think you’re hiding from the world

but in reality you’re hiding from yourself

self-deception is the worst kind of deceit

sleight of hand as you try to trick me with your cups and your balls

don’t you know that secrets keep you sick

but the Romantics said they hear your secrets when you’re talking in your sleep

and liars gonna lie down with dogs

and get up with blood sucking fleas

and a case of the gonorrhea guilts

and keep a low profile when you’re sipping suds

because loose liquored up lips sink ships

and now everyone knows it was you in the conservatory fucking over Mrs. Peacock

so be careful to never make promises you can’t keep

and falsely think this means no disappointment can be had

just because there were no expectations

or supposition or presumption or conjecture

because I can surmise that you’ve done this before and you’ll do it again

and it will still be someone else’s fault

because you’re proficient at the blame game

and since the arrow never lands on your number

and because I know how to keep my mouth shut

you will come out smelling like a rose in the middle of a shit sandwich

and you think you’re #winning at this game called Life

and I’m left holding the crusts I cut off for you

because I’m always proficient at Sorry, and not the game, but the apologizing

and I should learn that you’ll never learn

and that I just need to stick with men who only play board games

and not bored games

because I was merely a pawn who filled your time

 

 

 

Gone Astray

I close my eyes

and try to recall what happy felt like

and wonder where it went

it’s lost

amid the noise of the world

and other people’s opinion of my worth

and bad hair days

and tight pants

and the sound of the neighbor’s leaf blower

and rantings of fear and hate on social media

and all I want

is the serenity of nature

and sun in my face

and sand between my toes

and the pop and crack of a bonfire

with the lull of waves lapping at the shore

 

 

 

 

Hunter of Hearts

bleeding-heart-flower-1

 

You do this to my heart

though not as beautiful

not nearly as beautiful

because you rip it open

jagged edges

rivers of blood flowing

no kind words from your lips

to stanch the bleeding

only more

slashing

of your bowie knife

until you stand victorious

my last pulse of life

throbbing in your hand

arm outstretched over your head

ever the hunter

and me lying

dead

merely another trophy

to be mounted

above your bar

 

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