Another Tweet
Note to self: Just because the last three guys were dirty cake fuckers, doesn’t mean this one is. This guy could just like cake, and not actually have to fuck it.
Fat Bottom Girl Said What
When my ass talks, people listen.
Your Siren’s Song
Your words, your touch, your smile
They lure me in
Much like a siren’s song
Unleashing a deep-seated need, which can’t be explained
Drawing me close to you
Wanting to fall into you
To give myself over to you completely
Allow you to touch my very core
Even as the jagged boulders of your coast threaten to destroy my vessel and leave me shattered upon your beach
Sing to me. . . .
Because of all who came before you. . . .
You’re grown. . .you can do this. . .he is going to show up. . .why do you think he’s going to show up?. . . some of the other guys didn’t show up. . .always let you down. . .you can’t count on a man to do what he says can you?. . .but he’s not those guys. . . you have to give him a fair chance. . .what’s fair? nothing in life is fair is it?. . .fair, as in, he said he is coming, so believe that he’s coming. . . do I have to believe in him?. . .isn’t that like having an expectation. . .shouldn’t have expectations. . .no expectations. . .really? I need to be able to expect him to show up, shouldn’t I?. . .I think that would be the bare minimum for expectations. . .yes, just have a little drink, just to calm your anxiety. . .if I still smoked I would be chain smoking. . .I need to change my perspective on this. . . how to do that. . .he would be foolish if he doesn’t show up because I am awesome. . .so I’m not the most beautiful woman, or the smartest, and I don’t have the perfect body. . .but fuck you, I look good for 44, and I am attractive, and guys check me out. . .and I am smart, I am well-read, and I know lots of shit. . .and I’m talented, and I’m interested in a lot of different things, and I have a karaoke machine and I can cook, so really what more would you want??. . . and thank the hell, the boy has some manners and just texted to say he is on his way so I can relax a little. . .
*This is the kind of tornado that runs through my head because of the experiences I have been through with men. My self-esteem is shit. I can act like I am all that and a bag of chips, I can pretend I fucking rock and that I’m great, and make everyone, even some of my best friends believe it, but I’m not. I have absolutely no idea why a guy would want to take the time to come see me, or date me. I truly believe I am the “fuckable, but not dateable girl”. God, I have to stop that fucked up thinking!!
If I Had Twitter. . . .
I would post the following:
“Ate crawdads for the first time this weekend. Reminded me of my ex—a lot of work for a little meat.”
Do The Lessons Outnumber the Goodbyes?
How many goodbyes must there be?
Love always walking away from me
Leaving me standing
Alone
Broken
My heart shattered
Yearning for a man to speak kindnesses
Not lies
How many lessons must there be?
This was this week’s submission over at WordCloud Wednesdays. I was unable to come up with anything for the last couple of weeks, but this one seemed to flow easily. I guess you just never know when it’s going to come, or how. A couple of days ago, it felt like drudgery to write, but my bad poetry has seem to come easy the last couple of days.
blow the fucking house down
brick by brick
with every harsh word
or raised hand
that’s how I built it up
concrete and reinforcing steel
with unkind comments and condescending names
that’s how I built it up
your compliments, your attentiveness
it chisels away at the mortar and brick
the way your eyes look at me, the way your hand seeks mine to hold
it jackhammers the foundation
you saying I am beautiful, that you don’t understand how someone hasn’t snatched me up before
makes the foundation crumble
careful, so careful
don’t let the foundation crumble
don’t let the walls collapse
run, gather supplies
shore up the walls, fortify your defenses
no one can be allowed in
once they are inside the walls can come down too quickly
leaving you exposed to the elements of love
little pig, little pig
let me in
fuck you, I said to the big, bad wolf
Photo Credit: tumbler.com
Rock Bottom
I don’t know that I am there, but I sure as fuck can see it from here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really not stuck in some sort of deep depression, or anything. I have been in a fairly positive mood lately. But at times, when I least expect it, the tears hit me, like they did on my drive home today. I am just tapped out. I am fucking exhausted. I feel like I can’t write. Like it’s such a struggle to write. I am now to a point where I don’t even seem to have the energy to read blogs. I keep trying, but I feel like I can’t keep up, and when I can’t keep up and do it perfectly, like read every one I subscribe to, then the guilt sets in. I have perfectionistic tendencies, and they totally fuck my world up. I am especially tapped tonight because I just finished a post for Deliberate Donkey. I needed to write it, it was cathartic, but it was fucking exhausting too. It will post on Thursday. I hope you read it. I apologize, if I can’t get around to reading everything. I try to be supportive, but I have to be honest and tell you I just can’t do it right now. Hopefully soon I can find some of the ADD crazy energy that seems to appear every now and then.
Real Things
If only I weren’t so transparent and blatantly honest. . . .
“Stinkbomb”
I know I am not popular. I know I might never be popular. I am not fat, but I am not thin. I am of a normal size, but I guess everyone thinks normal means skinny, so they call me fat. One of the boys, who I think is cute, also calls me “Stinkbomb”. I guess because my first name begins with “St”, he thinks that putting “Stinkbomb” in front of my name sounds funny. It seems to be funny to the other kids, because they laugh. To me the words sting; they hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes. I can’t get away from him on the monkey bars, because he follows me there and calls me names. I tell the teacher what he calls me. She smiles and says he just calls me that because he likes me and he is flirting with me. I try to wrap my mind around this. He likes me so he calls me names? I don’t understand really, because I am only 8, but I am smarter enough to know that thinking he likes me because he calls me mean names, is better than the alternative.
(I think that was the beginning of men calling me mean names and me being okay with it.)
Written for Tipsy Lit Prompt: Through a Child’s Eyes
Just so you know, the stuff I write is mine. Even though it might be crap to some, it’s my crap, and you can’t have it.
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 