© Nov. 30, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Month: November 2020
7 Digit Weight
© Nov. 9, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
To the woman uncomfortable
With her weight,
I desire your communication
With actions,
But desire you to speak to me
And concentrate.
If you break a workhorse’s back
It’s distractions.
We’ll just call the workhorses
Balloon animals.
They can’t handle a real woman,
But demand one.
If you want to lose weight,
Then try vegetables.
“Pop” to you standing on
Your tippy toes for fun.
I know a lot of grandchildren
Think you’re pregnant.
You act like your tummy protrudes
From state to state.
Some men like extra meat,
But are just hesitant.
They think you can afford food
Where it’s a free date.
Just because your partner
Wants you on a diet,
It doesn’t mean that I despise
Plus size women.
They call you big-boned,
But my heart is quiet.
My heart is obese like the
City of Cheyenne.
Beauty is hard to draw
Like the perfect circle
Without a protractor to assist
Me drawing.
If you’re running, I can sketch you
For a turtle.
Personality runs deep before
I hear yawning.
You’ll give anyone
Photographic memory.
They say your build is unique
As a curvy fat.
If you have a turkey neck,
No need to worry.
You’ll walk a mile in your house
With a thermostat.
They call her weight the
7 digit weight.
I may love you,
But Jesus loves you more.
Date a scrawny man and they’ll
Say, “Don’t sit on him.”
He’ll wound up like a flat tire as if you
Have four
To keep you enough company
Until you’re slim.
If you have genetic fat,
They’ll love you more.
If you ever feel like you’re nothing,
But dead weight,
Someone may be there like a
Friend or relative.
There’s someone who loves you
And can be your soulmate,
You’re beautiful if you have
Nothing and still give.
If I could greet you speechlessly
With compliments,
I’d tell you, “Don’t be defined by your
Shape or size,”
For I see beauty on the inside
Like presents.
I don’t always have the right words,
But take your prize.
While cellulite is unhealthy,
It’s attractive.
Try to be comfortable with
Your body fat.
They should create fat dolls for girls,
Then you’ll relive.
Don’t let the world treat you
Like a yoga mat.
I’d love you if your weight was
7 digits long.
Get stuck in an alley and I’d treat
You the same.
They act like when your boobs flap,
We’ll hear a theme song.
If you were musty, I’d still want to
Know your name.
If you’re fat and your butt is flat,
Then that’s okay.
If your teeth aren’t perfect,
Your heart just may be
For me like all my lessons
Form to papier-mache.
I’m not saying I’m the one
Or your cup of tea.
They call her weight the
7 digit weight.
I may love you,
But Jesus loves you more.
The Stupid Times and I
© Nov. 2, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Why do I say stupid things?
I know there’s stupid moments.
My reflection’s in hot springs.
I’ll hear heavenly accents.
This could be my last supper.
Sometimes, we have stupid dreams.
If I’m stupid, I’ll suffer.
My mouth vomits spoiled ice creams.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid.
Blessed be my everything.
Humbled be my one of a kind.
I know you do stupid things.
While everyone’s talking,
Laughing pass calendar dates,
My awkwardness is living
As if my eyes roll like skates,
But I didn’t roll my eyes.
I made my regular face.
I’ll want nothing, but goodbyes
Locked in what’s called breathing space.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid.
Blessed be my everything.
Humbled be my one of a kind.
I know you do stupid things.
I get lost from town to town.
I’ll make a frozen puzzle
With the lakes I see boiled down.
Greetings are like a cuddle.
My humor is cold hearted.
It’s too cold, but I’m too hot.
I swim like the departed,
Holding a true lover’s knot.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid all the time.
I feel stupid.
Blessed be my everything.
Humbled be my one of a kind.
I know you do stupid things.
Nerves of Tomboy/ Tomgirl
© Nov 1. 2020. All Rights Reserved.
He washed up and brushed
His teeth twice a day.
He was like the
Mother of vinegar.
Sometimes, he wore his
Mother’s lingerie
With makeup to hide bruises from
A blur.
His anxiety revived and
He cried.
Without girl’s clothes, they
Called him a tomboy
Until he spoke where it’s as if
He lied.
His sister’s doll was his
Favorite toy.
He’d stare at men on
Television long
Like he could flirt with his eyes
Endlessly.
His fingernails were like crayons,
But strong.
Back home, he’d wonder about God’s
Mercy.
His older brother was ashamed
Of him.
As if he was carrying
His wardrobe.
Boys would ask him for girl tips
On a whim.
The mirror made him remove
His bathrobe.
The school he went to
Preached against his way,
Then he’d head to church to
Hear about God.
His parents tried to
Pray away the gay
When he said he’s a woman
That’s just flawed.
Nobody’s perfect except
Jesus Christ,
But he didn’t like reading
The Bible.
How he wants a female
Body mispriced,
Affordable with a female
Title.
His mom thinks he wants to
Be a drag queen.
His dad can’t have him be a
Punching bag.
He doesn’t fit in using
A latrine.
Boys laugh at him because
He doesn’t sag.
He doesn’t wear skinny jeans,
So they’ll live.
The support groups seem
So superficial.
His musical taste
Was alternative
Most know his preferred color
Was purple.
And his neighbor said,
“I’ll hug you on my way to hell,
Even on my way to heaven
And I won’t hate you if you tell.”
His best friend was murdered for
Being gay.
His dad was molested
Ever since birth,
And his dad’s gay, but
He calls it foul play.
His mother wanted 3
Abortions on Earth.
They’re alive, but aren’t
The trinity.
What’s living if you can’t love,
He would think.
With love, he’d hope to be
Infinity,
But he had to watch the
Neighborhood drink.
Back then, he served beers,
Which lasted a day.
His parents didn’t want him
Serving beers.
Miles away, they could smell his
Homemade hair spray.
When he slept, he saw what
Challenged his fears.
There was a vacant funeral
At church.
He woke up hearing men yell
At his mom.
They want her to accept gays
And research,
But she wasn’t preaching, so
What’s to come?
Now, they call disagreeing with gays
Hate speech.
Once more, he ate a hairy
Bar of soap
Make his body for a
Christian outreach.
He thought about hanging
Hope to a rope.
If he slept, it’s an inside joke
For gays.
His life feels like an inside job
For moms.
The broken bones made up
For rainy days.
It’s déjà by like a thousand
Sitcoms.
Plastic surgery’s like a
Plastic bomb.
His future’s see-through like
Secondhand smoke.
When gays turn straight,
Are they already calmed?
When he finds Jesus, they say
He’s a joke.
The gays he’s friends with
No longer likes him
And it doesn’t win his
Family back.
When he says he loves Jesus,
The lights dim.
Then his neighborhood has a
Heart attack.
And his neighbor said,
“I’ll hug you on my way to dreams,
Even on my way to heaven
And I won’t hate you as it seems.
Isaiah Lawrence 