An Ode to Your Inner Fat Girl

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She is condemned
and disdained
for her girth,
her untamed abundance.

I look at my thighs as they spread across the beach chair at the pool
and they seem as vast
as the Pacific Ocean
to my judgmental eye.
But my silky flesh
is clean and smooth,
pillowy,
inviting.
Men enter
my depths
with a shudder
of pleasurable relief,
like sliding
into a warm bath.

Life is hard
but my body is soft.

In Mauritania,
only fat women
are considered beautiful.
Fat is wealth.

The truth is
beauty is in the eye
of the beholder.

Why not hold yourself
and your loved ones
with a gaze of love?
We only have this one life.

I am not really that large,
but in my heart
I am a big woman,
fat and happy.

If Only

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If only I had the power and poise of a ringmaster
I would create a circus to amuse you,
of daredevil stunts and exotic pleasures.
Already I have flipped and dove
like an acrobat
for you.
Flying into thin air
and falling into the net
of nothing.
I have performed for you
my titillating burlesque show.
I have given you too many sweets.
But I have not lead you
inside the lion’s den,
nor fed you to the hungry tigers.

You are a strange one, my love.
Not made of soft earth like me,
but of fire,
and the wind
that feeds it.

Your mother ran out of milk
while you were still suckling.
Lack became your preferred feast.
Now you crave the torment
of a dry breast,
a woman who gives nothing.

If only
I could give you that!
Maybe someday, someday
I will stop loving you

and seduce you
the right way.

Threads

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I am a worry doll,
woven of invisible threads of memory that tie me to you,
a worn and frayed fabric of longing
that absorbs the blows of your sorrows and punishments
like magic
in the night.
Spun into my rigid shape
by the tiny needles of fate,
I am sewn away from you
and fixed in another design,
like a patch.

Where is my rightful place?
I do not know
the ultimate pattern.
I long for you
to return,
to unspool the fretful bindings
from my straining,
flushed body
that lie heavy like clothes,
and craft me,
with your burning, clever hands
and reluctant
whispered apology
into a woman,
naked
and new.

So Good

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I remember the first time I was drowning
and a man saved me
with his body.
His skin pressed against my own, warming me from the bone chill of the deep.
His mouth on mine
breathing life into me
with his kiss.

He could not have known
that I was falling off the blurry edge
of my own mind.
But I know he felt the weight of me in his arms.
“You scared me last night” he said.
He did not quite explain,
but i think he sensed
my latent panic, the way I clung fast to him like a lifeboat,
hoping he would row me to shore
with his big strong arms.

I had travelled too far within myself that year
and I learned that even incoherence has its pattern.
I entered the dark forest of the shadow world
and recognized its wayward roads.
I forged new pathways through dense brush,
focused my compass to the direction of my heart,
made myself a map.
Eventually I walked out
by my own navigation,
into the clear light
of day.

But I carry with me
knowledge of where I’ve been.

Sometimes I wake
in the middle of the night,
gasping for air,
suffocated by dreams
of being submerged
in the vast well
of life’s sadnesses.
I lie awake worrying that maybe I could drown again,
if the currents
were strong enough.

Now I am solid,
centered in myself,
in this world.

But still I make love
with the feeling that I could dissolve
at any moment.
As though i might break against the rocks of life,
if not for the corporeal form
of the one I am holding in my hands
like a sensate anchor.
My passion is epic
and tragic,
like that of one who is dying
for the blissful wonder of life,
full of yearning to touch
the immaterial
and not let it go.

And that is why I fuck
so good.

Please

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“Do I dare put the dream market on display?” — Anne Sexton

 

Please do not steal

my gilded words, carefully crafted,

from the tip of my heart’s pen, stained as it is

with the ink of my blood.

 

Please do not rip

my precious fluttering heart

out from the velvety folds of my delicately embroidered hope chest,

so innocently beating.

 

Please

do not dim

my small spark of radiant life,

vibrantly aglow,

effusive with love and agony,

my intrepid inner lantern

lighting me

along the path

of my soul.

 

 

Please.