A Facebook Poem – January 28, 2018
My “more food” face killed any chance at fitness,
Like a new sports bra, supportive but binding.
We ate takeout from a cheap cafe and crafted
Words, composed words in sentences,
Struggled and desired suffering, joy, justice, love,
Abstract concepts like a quick moving virus.
Only mild pain and uneasiness remain.
Which means we can celebrate and maintain
Finding calm ways to party.
I didn’t get my eight glasses today.
I’m not diluted enough to think Trump is the most racist president
But he is codename Penelope and he never goes outside.
Last night he ran, despite the fact he doesn’t even like
The colorful world beyond the White House.
I started these new supplements and now
I’m less bloated, I crave water, I take leaps of faith
Off buildings, I get inspired 10 times a day,
I make love and I hunger and I get free Amazon deliveries.
I feed my face for the children. I worship Americanism.
I eat flavored bath bombs because they just smell so good.
So I brought my ass out after finding a family member
Unconscious on heroin, resuscitated in Hell.
I will answer any and all questions with a gif.
Feel free to steal this status.
Keep this lazy mama warm and resolve to make 2018
The year of yoga classes and cute baby pics.
I remember when real love was something I could just
Sink into, like a lotioned glove.
Photo by Ben White on Unsplash
