|
the tale of one hundred
near ninety eight
lbs
and u still wear
that fat suit
it clings to your mind
like another skin
your fashion
like it was a
cat suit
yet u can feel the wind
in your pores
and in the slamming
of friendly
doors
bent double over backward
in the rain
no one knows or feels ur
pain
they're not noticing
aren't u tired
one hundred
one hundred
once packed another
person
its true
she sees this other person
chasing her in her dreams
and in her
waking too
but
no one saw one hundred
for her insides
so she grew smaller
so maybe then they'd see her
or maybe she'd disappear
right b4 their little eyes
my oh my oh my
what power wielded one hundred
what pale disguise
this hunger less death
but her power grew less and less
as her body enveloped her
thinning distress
today she packs on another
one hundred
maybe more
and tries to convince
herself
that they were those
(and still are)
singularly ones
whose opinions
never
mattered
God help her
if they ever
did
again.
Copyright May 18 2014
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells
Straight from her site(sight): Tilt-a-World
Vote for this poem
|
