It's Wednesday and I am fat. My knees are cracking under the weight and I am fat. So soft and jelly in this cocoon of skin and my hip bone is missing.
I am disgusted at the rolls that make up my belly and the ever-growing stretch marks that decorate my thighs.
He won't want to come home to this lard ass. "More cushion for the pushing, baby," he'll say in his twisted consoling voice.
Well, I want you to grab me up and nail me against the wall like the jarhead you were trained to become.
I want handfuls of firmness and not cellulite to be in your squeeze.
What do I do? I do the diet. I do the fresh fruit and vegetables hustle and groove over to those fifteen almonds.
Soon I will be thin again and you'll be proud of the woman you married because you won't need to bury her at 33.
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1 comment:
Hey alexandra, you probably never thought I'd see late stuff, and I probably never thought you'd write it, but as school approaches, here I am cruising old blogs and here you are, with your usual nice writing about the not-so-nice.
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