Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   310848 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry


Read Poetry
Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019


Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

More Poetry >>


  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook


No More, Never Mind

Being fat
is being the elephant in the room.
Some will always bear you ill will
and begrudge you any room or
your place.
All your padding will never protect you.
Words and fists find their mark.
Your condition labeled a disgrace.
And a lack of character.
The angry soup in your stomach is building...
an anger that eats. Each morning it repeats.
And demands you as its focus.
Self-loathing its locus.

Plenty of childhood violence
on the schoolyard and in my bedroom at night.
Some days, I'd get lucky and I'd start the fight.
Get the first punch in.
I'd make it a rainmaker, the kind that produced tears.
Temporarily displacing the other person's confidence.
Temporarily allaying my fears
(of inadequacy.)

But there was always another day, another alley way
to navigate. There always is.
And fat doesn't melt or go away,
even when you 'grow up.'
It stays there stuck
(in the space between your ears.)

It moves malevolently in your dreams.
Even when you have a 22 inch waist.
Memories take on a life of their own.
Nipping at your heels. Bobbing in your mind.
Why do beings take pleasure in being unkind?

Does it take the momentary spotlight off of them?
Make them rise on the teeter totter of comparison?

They don't act nor think like me.
I would like to know what it would be like to be free
of all of them.
No, of their idea of me.
No, of my idea of myself.

Its best to leave the Toxic and their pain
far behind. Rinse out the bitter flavor.
        Delete from memory banks,
           til gone the angst,
             no more,
            never mind.

Copyright July 6th, 2012 All Rights Are Reserved By this Author
Melissa A Howells   Meloo from her Tilt-a-World

Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem


 Email Address


Vote for this poem