Fat Bottom Girl Said What

The Depth of Loneliness

I cried myself to sleep last night

tears pooling in the corner of my right eye

overflowing across the bridge of my nose

and into my left

and on down onto the pillow

Lonely runs deep

and burrows into my bones

as though it needs to feed on the marrow there

Hope isn’t a cure

but merely a sugar which feeds cells

already fat with melancholy

and you are far too beautiful for me

which pains me

since I still long to feel

your touch upon the small of my back

and trace my fingertips across your face

and press my lips to yours

Needle and Thread

You left me hanging by a thread

never one to tie up loose ends

you preferred to let it all unravel

and fall at your feet in a pile

Your life was a series of piles

piles of guilt

piles of shit

And god forbid you ever clean up your own messes

it takes courage to be the one to stay around

and mend things

and piece them back together

But then

you’re not me

I’m a seamstress of the broken

always believing I can repair

genetic codes reinforced by social systems

But I’m tired now

unable to reconstruct what rags I have left

so I drag it all into one pile

douse it with accelerant

strike the match

and watch it burn

pass the motherfucking marshmallows

Linger

I am the souls of the dead

who linger in cemeteries

incapable of finding their way

to other realms

loathe to leave their hollowed out corpses

left to rot in Sunday finery

Fall

I am the leaves
falling from the trees
crushed beneath your feet without a second thought
I am nothing to you
you do not gather me
and save me
you allow me to float on the breeze
hither and yon
coming to rest under long dead peony bushes
I sing songs
and recite poetry of a season
which passes too quickly
but you do not stop to listen
for you are preoccupied
with thoughts of flowers your mind deems more beautiful than me

Torture Chambers

I can still see you there
reclined on the rug
in my empty rental house
was that the 100th time I knew I loved you
I know it wasn’t the first
as that was many years before
if I was honest
I think I loved you the first time I met you
how does that happen
I don’t know
but now you’re long gone
left in anger
still I recall the feel of your hands
working hands
the smell of the outdoors locked in the weave of your clothes
and my mind
will continue torturing me with the details of you
until I die
and on into my next lifetime

The Things We Carry

one day you just stop caring
because it’s easier that way
and it’s not like anyone notices anyway
except for those of us
with hearts like swiss cheese
battle wounded by love
carrying around the PTSD
like a rucksack on your back
nick nack paddywhack
give the bitch a bone
because some men think you want it
even when you say no
screaming it in your head
though it struggles to escape your mouth
because who are you
but a drunk girl looking for attention
and affection from filthy hands
and you always know
you always remember
when they didn’t listen
because the next day
and the day after that
your churning gut reminds you
you can’t look at yourself in the mirror
without wanting to scrape your fingernails
down your face to erase the ugly emanating from inside
and even now
thirty years later
you still don’t like what you see
and think you still deserve only the things
no one else wants

Hell On Earth

They said they’d pray for you

they’re all sending thoughts and prayers

as if spoken or silent words to non-existent deities
could get the blood out from under your fingernails
or the coppery stench of it from your nose

Pray motherfucker pray

while people continue to die
in the name of all that is holy
in the name of psychosis
in the name of wars fought in minds you know nothing about

while you read your book of fairy tales
and give peace to the asshole sitting by you
who will go home and beat his wife after Sunday dinner
because the roast was too dry

Your prayers fall on deaf ears

if there is a god

he’s ignoring you and the entire flock
as everyone here begs for an end to the madness
and destruction and devastation
in this hell on earth

Luck

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