pants are too tight
and my ass creaks in them
like geriatric door hinges
muffin top turns to mushroom cloud
and folds over and swallows the belt
like a glutton gulps spaghetti
my cellulite is dynamite
it blows up and over
like deep fried atom bombs covered in cheese
my skinsides cracked like pavements
by the purple, vined witch fingers
called stretchmarks
huff up stairs, into cars
make dressing rooms cramed
pools overflow
benches break
i am fat, cracked, and a land yacht
but i cna dman well cook
This poem is awesome! The phrase land yacht makes me think about class last week when you said if you had to choose what boat you could you would choose a yacht. The bluntness of the poem is what I think makes it pop. My favorite lines are “and my ass creaks in them like geriatric door hinges muffin top turns to mushroom cloud”. Your poetry is very descriptive. The last line “but I can damn well cook” is a really good ending to this piece, it shows that while the person in this poem is describing this, they are okay with it because they can at least cook. Maybe you could further progress this piece by explaining more about the hips of this person.
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