Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “hope”

Barren Ground

barren

 

I pour the words out on the page

hoping to arrange them in some sort of order

to make my feelings known to you

and understand them myself

but it’s all just so much claptrap and drivel

you wouldn’t notice anyway because you don’t pause to read it

“Ugh, it’s poetry”, you think

“Don’t waste my time with that bullshit”

but it’s not merely my words you disregard

it’s me

you pay me no mind

even though you are all I can think about

show me who you really are

so I can stop this idol worship

and return my heart to its former state of hollowness

where butterfly wings fail to flutter

and no hope grows

 

 

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The Fallout of Hope

heart

 

“It’s because you’re an optimist.”

What the fuck did he just say to me??

He was kidding.  He had to be kidding.

Me?  An optimist? Especially when it comes to me thinking about finding love??

My brain didn’t want to even think about the word!

My mouth didn’t want to form the “O” or purse my lips for the “P” of the first syllable.

I felt dirty.  Like he’d insulted me and called me the “C word”.

How dare he!

I pride myself on being a pessimistic realist–especially when it comes to that particular topic.

Was I losing my snark?  Was I allowing something which seemed to say “optimist” to peek through my rough exterior?

Is there some teeny tiny kernel of optimism which lives somewhere deep down inside my black heart which he caught a tiny glimpse of?

Or, worse yet, am I lying to myself?

Is there something within me that believes it’s possible for me to find love again, that there might be someone out there who will love me like I need to be loved?

I’d like to think not, but maybe he sees something within me I can’t.  Maybe he sees some sort of potential in me that I refuse to because it makes my life easier.

For me, realism is so much easier than optimism, and pessimism kicks both their asses, because it means I don’t have to manufacture “hope” for love, because even if it were to happen, it would probably just go to shit anyway.

I think I started being a realist about love when, while carrying my son, his father left me for one of my best friends.

I became a pessimist when every man since then cheated on me with other women.

I doubt romantic love exists anymore, and so far, no man has shown up to disprove my theory.

Maybe, some day a great guy will come along, but I’m not holding my breath.

Until then, I will live in my cynical world, because it protects my heart from the fallout of hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A First

You’re the first guy that ever sang to me.
I liked it. I really liked it.
Is it too much to hope you will sing to me again?

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

Photo Credit: tumbler.com

I can only hope. . .

Photo Credit:  Tumblr

Photo Credit: Tumblr

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