23 October 2016

A Freshly-paved Parking Lot

Heaven is a freshly-paved parking lot,
tar burning
our nostrils when we breathe,
and I am the child
in the carpeted van,
looking out of the blue-tinted window
(cracked only just):
some small angel,
yellow wings,
carries a fluffy dog in a handbag.
The dog's eyes are covered
(but I look for them anyway).
The angel hurries along,
her bare feet pattering.
The surprisingly fleshy soles
clap against uneven pavement.
"Look here," says a voice
(and I am reminded that I'm not alone).
"Look to me."
And he cradles my round face in his hands.
And I am fresh,
secure in my seat
as we finish loading the car and leave.

21 October 2016


You break
into my house
and complain
to me
that there's nothing
here to steal.

18 October 2016

the last thing I said

It was April
and I asked
"Is it OK
to still tell you
that I love you?"
You never replied.

16 October 2016

Another Brief Open Letter About My Public Fatness

                  Artist: Marelly

No one is introducing new information to me by calling me fat, and despite reclaiming the label for myself, it does still sting to hear it over and over from people who are not fat.

Today, I was reminded of why I rarely post full-body pictures of myself on social media. I worry about the comments. And, sure enough, after posting some photos from my recent travels, I received some comments about my large body, that I look "swollen," as if many bees had stung me and "left me to die."

Existing while fat is obnoxious. I am regularly made to feel undesirable, stupid, and inferior because of my size. I want to love and respect myself, but there have been many obstacles in my way. Some of those obstacles have been misconceptions about fat folks, etc, but some of those obstacles have been actual people in my life, saying things to me that replay in my mind.

Ugly comments make me feel ugly. And when ugly comments are abundant, they feel truthful. And it's hard to love myself and have something else, something positive, be truthful when I'm overwhelmed by discouragement.

So, there are outside factors that determine low self-esteem, and all the positive self-talk in the world can only do so much to reframe and resituate one's perceptions. If you are someone who hates fat people, maybe take a moment to consider how you may be impacting someone else's life and well being.

To be clear, I and others like me aren't asking to be coddled, but laying off the online and offline comments about someone's weight might be cool, because our bodies are our business, and many of us are doing a lot to try to keep said business open and (quasi) flourishing. Patronize us if you want, but fuck you.

14 October 2016

Sallow Colorado

I am in a place I'd never been, tired as hell, and I still can't get out of bed. It is lunchtime where I'm from, but not here, not where the buildings hug the center of where I am, where I am pocket-sized and fragile.

Instead of preparing for "professional activities," I am thinking about boys and being rejected by them. Each little heartache is a reminder that I believe lies too easily. I thought of my self-pity and looked out of my hotel room window at some birds. They aren't pathetic. Perhaps they don't ever feel sorry for themselves. I'm a weighted, flightless bird (or broad, or dame, or girl) who can't help but get in my own way.

The light found meaning in my path just then, and I'm reminded that it is still morning here. While hope is futile and fickle and only latches on when it wants something, light is eternal and judgment-free. It framed some perfect wisdom about having feelings I no longer want to have.

13 October 2016

Girl Dreams

One day
I will be beautiful
to love.

09 October 2016

Radio Edit (Part 2)

"Oh, Diane," I said, looking at her orange face, "she told me why she was a bad person, and I'm besides myself."

Diane was intrigued. She showed it by raising her carefully-caterpillared brows. Both of them, at the same time.

"Why, Tony?" She finally whispered.

I leaned in.

"She thinks the Bauhaus version of 'Ziggy Stardust' is better than the original."

"Oh," she replied. "Oh my god."

"And that's not all," I said, my eyes wide with horror. "She loves Bob Evans, Diane. Bob Evans!"

"Wait, don't they have that unlimited pasta bowl?"

"No, Diane," I sighed, frustrated. "They're the ones with the turkey and dressing year-round."

"Oh," she replied. "Oh my god."

07 October 2016

For Lowell

The wind breathes
through the reeds
and the spaces in branches
between delicate leaves,
and the frail ones dance,
fleeting grace,
and land softly
where you are,
where I can no longer find you,
where I can only feel
where you once were.

06 October 2016


I am (woefully) constant
but not enough to be a habit,
not enough to be good or bad,
just around:
a dull headache,
a florescent hum,
a period instead
of a question mark.
I am just
unexciting but
and I want so much to be missed.

05 October 2016

Everything You Need

I finish my makeup in the car, where the light is better, and I can see what I'm doing. I sit in the parking lot for about twenty minutes, before I am officially early somewhere. The trick is to leave everything you need in various compartments: tweezers in the sunglasses spot, hairbrush in the arm rest, powder in one of the cup holders. I did not learn this from anyone. I took it up as someone who always felt the need to be somewhere, wanted by someone else, who could look fairly pretty at a moment's notice.