Fat Bottom Girl Said What

A Husk

Necrosis has set in

my vena cava

collapsed

is no longer superior

my aorta a husk

left empty

as all tributaries to my heart

have run dry

Smoke blocks out the sunlight

food has no flavor

my words mere echoes

nothing holds joy

Blessings in disguise

for the end comes swiftly

and painless

Fortune Teller

I’m the girl with kaleidoscope eyes

and tornadoes in my brain

Moths beat their powdery wings

within my ribcage

My skin has become vellum

tomes of poetry incarcerated in my heart

The keys to my kingdom dangle

just out of my reach

My life remains a delicious torture

as foretold by the gypsy in the ragged carnival tent

Where is the man in boots she spoke of

He remains forever hidden in the shadows

of my melancholy

Stolen Moments

Do you remember

when we’d fuck wherever we could

and stolen moments were all we had

and neither of us ever spoke of love

except to know it wasn’t meant for us

even though we both felt it

Soul Funerals

You knock on my door

but I know you don’t really want in

so I press my lips to the crack

and speak to you of the skeletons in my closet

trying to frighten you away

but you’re not deterred

and I hear the rap of your knuckles again

I admire persistence

so against my better judgement

I let down my guard and invite you in

the cloying aroma of dying flowers hanging in the air

doesn’t seem to phase you as you cross the threshold

but you give me a quizzical glance

when I ask you to sign the guestbook

as if you don’t understand 

what once lived in me has long since died

there’s nothing here to resurrect

and if there were

it can’t be done with words 

Ghosts of Prose

The words I thought 

lost

not committed to paper

were tactile in my dreams

they carried the scent of you

the timbre of your voice

your breath upon my neck

the feel of your hands upon my hips

But I woke with a word hangover

ghosts of prose haunting my mind

with no proof they ever existed at all

Biding Time

I feel ugly 

so I cut my hair short

shorter

I try to forget I am a sexual being

because no one desires a woman with shorn locks

And as a woman in my 40’s

I would make a great spy or a serial killer

because I have ceased to be relevant

and no one notices me in crowds

or wants to hear my stories

about the men who did me wrong

So I move in the shadows

because darkness suits me

and I silence my voice

because words seem pointless

and I lie down and wait for the sound

of dirt hitting pine

Clipped Wings

I am the crow

who waits in the parking lot

for the crumbs you dispense as you see fit

Relying on your menu

of falsehearted affection confections

has left me unable to forage for myself

Ruined by fabricated kindness

I am no longer the majestic creature 

I once was

and have taken to dumpster diving to satiate me

because a little something 

is better than nothing at all

Mankind always finds a way

to ruin that which is good

and clip the wings of creatures

having the moxy to fly

Curtain Call

I offered you a handwritten letter

but you had no interest in words penned for posterity

My love for you was an embarrassment

something relegated to the shadows

not shared with the world

Everyone knows anything not given regular sunlight

withers and dies

but that never concerned you

Unbeknownst to me you were an agent

auditioning a whole chorus of girls for your ego show

and I hadn’t made the cut

Neon Signs

I wander

from one room to another

and back again

looking for you as if you were actually ever here

But it’s just my heart

longing for something which life

has decided I don’t deserve

When I was born

the universe whispered and said

“You will know heartache and longing and disloyalty because you are a truth teller and are born to lose”

So I wear this pre-destination

like a scarlet letter

or an old motel sign

neon lighting the way for every

narcissist

abuser

alcoholic

loser

to find their way to my doorstep

and desperate to sate my loneliness

I open the door and let them in

I lay down with dogs

and rise up with leprosy

because foolishly I’ve always thought

the love of a good woman

could fix a man

But I’m the one who has been broken by them

and no man ever knocks on the door

offering his love to heal me

Platitudes

You said
“God doesn’t make garbage”
as if somehow forgetting the murderers and child rapists
and also the fact I don’t believe in your god

But you wouldn’t know that
because you haven’t really known me since 1987
when I was still giving men my body
in the hopes they would love my soul
and now no man wants my body because it was used by too many
men who came before them

And you married your high school sweetheart
while my husband was fucking one of my best friends from high school
and your parents just celebrated 50 years of marriage
and I can still remember the sick feeling I got in my stomach when my mom told me she was divorcing my dad

So do me a favor and save your platitudes and pep talks
for someone who actually believes you give a shit about them
because I’m sick to fucking death of people pretending like they care
only when it suits them and when the world is watching