I do wear clothes when I write. Sometimes even nice clothes. I have, for the moment, lost any motivation I may once have had to take photos of what I am wearing. Since I am not a skilled photographer or model and not a fashion icon by any stretch of the imagination I don't see this as any great loss for blogland. Believe me when I say, I continue to wear outfits I like and not give a damn if they are stylish, fashionable or to anyone else's liking but my own. If I have learned anything, I have learned that when it comes to clothes what I care about most is being comfortable and wearing things I like. This will inevitably mean sensible shoes and no belts.
Lying in bed, my thighs heavy against the mattress,
Head, light on the pillow
I think of you, my last thought always
But sometimes sleep won't come
And heels digging in, body arched with longing
I am reaching for that far away place
Where you are and I am not.
Palms down, spread-hands press,
Sighs are deep and then breath catches
Bittersweet, a word that can only ever apply
To love or chocolate.
I was born understanding that my appearance mattered,
That not everyone could be beautiful and probably I was
Not one of the lucky ones, but that
still, what I wore and how I did my hair
And moved my body mattered.
I was born understanding that there was shame
In being female because most of me
Needs covering or taming, controlling, changing
And although I could grow up to be anything I wanted
I was going to have to look a certain way while doing it.
But how to look? It depends on whom you ask.
How to behave? Well that too depends
And whichever you choose will be wrong by someone’s standards.
It has taken me awhile to figure myself out
But if I am sure of anything, it’s that I prefer sensible shoes.
Sometimes I have too much body,
thick, pained, exhausted, overflowing
And too much mind churning, grinding, spilling
Where is the off switch?
I only want to be light,
To float perhaps invisible or
I want to disappear.
I am supposed to want visibility
But all that means to me is that
I will have to stand and all I want
is to lie down. Please let me lie down.
I knew bliss once.
There was a lake and summer sun,
An inflated vinyl donut.
So much had not happened yet.
Why Can’t Bellies Be Sexy?
It’s really not fair that I am supposed to put
My extra weight in certain places
Just to please others, and it’s not my fault that
The chocolate pudding doesn’t go to my booty so
Why can’t bellies be sexy?
I finally grew big boobs but booties were
All the rage and sexy means big bouncy cheeks.
I am waiting for the day when upper arms -no elbows
-the day when fat elbows are sexy.
Why not? It’s the fat-elbowed people’s turn.
I can grow a booty eventually, yes
But it comes at the price of a double chin
And the last time I checked those are not
Much admired though mine is a particularly
Why aren’t brains sexy?
Oh, we like to pretend they are
It’s the latest thing to claim-but honestly
Tina Fey is not that hard on the eyes and I don’t
know anyone with the hots for Hilary Clinton.
Under the Weight of You
Under the weight of you
I grit my teeth, hold my breath
Try to smile-no I try to believe
That I like this and I want this.
I am supposed to like this-
Supposed to want you touching me
But there is so much of you,
flesh and hair and bone and breath
And so much asking, wanting, needing
Something I can’t give, but why?
I don’t understand why and you
Can’t understand what is wrong with me.
I am supposed to want this-
This merging and vulnerability and surrender
But there is a wall I can’t knock down
And perhaps I do not want to.