"cellulite" poems
Anna,
the young lions won't want you
forever.
Eventually you are going to
get tired
of keeping it tight,
of batting your eyes,
of applying the gloss just right.
Anna,
what will you do when the invitation beds
come to an end?
Eventually the lions will settle,
while you gather cobweb and callus,
while you smoke cancer and wallow in cellulite.
Anna,
find a boy who makes you feel like the sun.
Ultimately,
he's the only one who can save your soul
from all the crimes you've done.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 10:14 PM UTC
Stretch marks.
Cellulite.
Scales.
Want.
Pretty
Reflection,
Is that really me?
Knife.
Shredder.
Fats be gone.
For the better.
Please?
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
Staring
At the skinny legs
Wishing i had those
Gorgeous legs
That everyone is jealous
My legs are covered
In fat and cellulite
I just want to be pretty
Is that too much to ask?
Too see what everyone else
Sees in me
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.
Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.
I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like ***** but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
There is pressure in society
That judges how your looks should be
And when I hear a girl proclaim "I'm fat!"
As though there was something wrong with that,
Such thoughts, I tell you, just won't do
When the opposite is clearly true
Because with big girls there is more to love,
And they won't break with a playful shove.
And although I'm not one for body shaming,
And don't wish to sound like I'm complaining,
Thin girls simply lack the cellulite
To keep somebody warm at night,
Their bones protrude in awkward places
And they have gaunt, unhealthy faces
They regularly seem in a foul mood
(Which is probably caused caused by lack of food),
And you can't get anything to eat
Without them scowling at the treat,
That you, yourself, have chose to order,
While they dine on salad and water,
Until they scream "I've had enough!
You have no idea how tough
It is to keep this slender figure
And stop myself from getting bigger!"
As if it was somehow your fault
That they won't eat sugar or salt,
Or that they'll spend 3 hours at the gym
As a compromise for staying thin.
So while I'd love a girl however she looks
(As long as we like similar books,
And can talk for hours at a time,
Or not at all and still be fine)
There's very few (indeed, if any!
Although their numbers may be many),
Skinny girls I've ever met
That a big one hasn't beaten yet!
If you must lose weight I do implore
You know it's yourself you do it for
And while I must concede it doesn't matter,
To most if you're thinner or fatter,
No songwriter, I'll think you'll find
Wrote a song about a small behind
No artists brush strokes ever found
Joy in painting girls that were not round
And the best words found in poetry
Are about big girls it's plain to see
Like voluptuous, buxom, and well-rounded
With thin girls how would they have sounded?
Although I must- again- make haste to add
That no truly self-respecting lad
Would ever dream of judging you
By how you look, not what you do,
So if shedding pounds makes you feel great
Then go ahead and lose some weight,
But ignore what shallow fools may say,
As they'll just keep judging anyway,
Because the best people, you'll always find,
Will love you for what's in your mind.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
you wedge your pointer finger between your canines-
in an attempt to appear sublime- or nervous- or seductive
either way it doesn't succeed.
your tooth, teeth
speck of blood, bleed
emerging as you pierce your calloused
yellow patch of skin
(layers & layers of the girls you've touched before)
but you crave one more-
for in every sleepless night
there's a quote to be fill- a new slit to drill-
you're a man.
i can sense it-
throbbing and shaking beneath your olive exterior
how you long to drag
your now bloodied, prior prettied
finger up an off white thigh-
to disregard the things obliged-
to forge the paradigm
from faulty tools,
splintered and battered in a worn down knapsack
duct taped to a hunching back,
you're a man.
thoughts of droning monotone
quiet your hungry bones
(i can hear them)
rattling as you ****
your head and lift that heavy glance up to me.
i can see you,
flopping and thrusting and sweating, which
after years of curiosity has handed me
nothing,
but sweaty sheets and burning ***
i lay beneath you, silent
i'm a woman.
avert your eyes ( i am tempted to plead)
from the onset of premature varicose veins
(i am pale, glasslike, arched & stained)
allow me to suffocate the already immune-
girls born into the world with big black brandings
stamped onto their lightly acne ridden foreheads.
(SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE)
trim your ribs, shave off the cellulite-
turning a blind eye to accessible insight..
a salad for lunch, make it dinner too.
finger down your throat, orange acid hurling,
stick like dancers twirling,
they bring tears to your eyes,
if only {you} possessed the grace-
but there are pounds to erase.
i'm a woman.
thirteen years of advertisements stapled to your eyes
standing barefoot in a bath tub with chunks of blood
running down shaking legs
kicking off a now crimson pair of old underwear-
stuck & tangled on trembling feet
[ silence your voice and push up your *******
til they're touching your neck.
get a nose job
get a blow job
you're a woman ]
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Think of how much world is wasted on
bad eyes - by blindness, or ones that merely do not want to see.
The next thing you know you cannot miss a sunrise
and french kiss both moon and stars
goodnight, your head will hug its fallen hair on the pillowcase,
strands telling stories of when you were not conscious. I
realize you will visit jewelry stores and
watch how gemstones are faceted. You will imagine the galaxy
within an amethyst, publish novels on their bouquets
of cigarettes, worry about how pretty things can **** themselves too.
Everything is a story: you ask to see my cellulite,
you tell me how it got there, how my skin stretched to make
room for every place we shall go
including statelines that do something similar. We stretch apart
and still we are okay. We think about how the same
dawn reaches us, I can almost see your pupils dilate when the sky
dances - I watch but you hope to learn the ballet.
Someone is taking a photograph right now that they can look
at later, ours never came out the way I wanted them to
or perhaps the memories just go by another name.
I learned about homophones when I hurt you
by trying to sound beautiful. It is so much easier when we can see
morning peeling open our feelings, easier when you're here.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Sit up straight
chest out
Legs together
DON'T SLOUCH
smile,
Smile,
YOU SHOULD SMILE MORE
you'd look prettier
Brush your hair,
tight bun,
no stray hairs,
you'll look sloppy
no Man wants a girl like that
you should eat less
no Man wants a girl who eats too much
don't eat that
that's the reason for your stretch marks
you'll get fat
don't be fat
No Man wants a fat girl.
don't wear short skirts we don't want to see that...cellulite
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
LOSE WEIGHT
...she's too skinny
"she looks anorexic haha"
Ew pimples,
dark circles under your eyes!
COVER THEM UP.
"Why are you wearing make up?
I only like girls with "natural" makeup",
don't wear that red lipstick
you'll look like a *****
"Dude she is such a **** look how short her dress is"
"She's such a ***** show some leg, you're not a nun"
"She should loosen up, take a few shots, she's so up tight"
"Look at how much she has had to drink, she's so loose"
Men don't like girls who...yell
Men don't like girls who...swear
Men don't like girls who...drink
Men don't like girls who...smoke
Men don't like girls who...wear too much
Men don;t like girls who...wear too little
Men don't like girls who...play hard to get
Men don't like girls who...are too easy
Men don't like girls who...eat too much
Men don't like girls who...don't eat
Men don't like girls who...are too clingy
Men don't like girls who...don't give them attention
Men don't like girls who...
Men don't like girls who...
Men don't like girls who...
STOP
I am a WOMEN.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC
Pieces of a woman
Gloom, glee, distance and intimacy
Attitude, gratitude, strength and vulnerability
Heartbreaks, Happiness, Longingness and poetry
Calmness, boldness and a bad *** stree.
Pieces of a woman
Stretch Marks, cellulite, miscarriages and then bossy
Shallow, Intense, blur and then some glossy
Cute, cheerful, lazy, sane and naughty
Benevolent, bizarre, shy and much hotty
Pieces of a woman
Family, friends, kin, acquaintances
Risk, safe and then out of the world chances
Society, sub-urb,rural and them glances
Some music, some writing, some shying and couple dances
Pieces of a woman
Marriage, adoption, career and grace
Clarity,focus,concentration and haze
Red,green, black, purple and beige
Independence, freedom, self-doubt and cage
All this and endless…..
And then some and then some
Nothing can totally define
The ultimate human
The beautiful, the wonderful
Pieces of a woman.
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 2:31 PM UTC
I want the hollow
Cheeks.
The full, adipose, smooth
Lips.
The white-boned,
Pearls she calls
Teeth.
I want the bright, clean,
Sun bleached
Hair.
The fine, sharpened,
Ready for scratching, Spotless
Nails.
The refined, sculpted,
Long, profiled
Nose.
I want gold to flake,
Off my ageing,
porous, dull,
Skin.
I want the protruding,
Famished, angled
Bones.
I want the pumping,
Arrhythmic
Heart.
The tired, hissing,
Tar coated, smoker’s
Lungs.
The round, fleshy,
Cellulite covered
***
The motherly, but
Childless plump
*******
I want the barren,
Bleeding, afflicted
******
I want the faint,
Wispy, high-pitched,
Call that she calls a
Voice.
The bruised, bulging,
Porcelain polished, etched
Knuckles.
The wide, protruding,
Ballooned up, dangling
Hips.
The numb, heavy, metal
Flavored, gum bleeding
Mouth.
I want the skewed,
Backwards, lost
Pedals she calls
Feet.
I want the hearing less,
Wax, pus covered,
Ears.
The lost dull, lifeless
Dumbed down, blue
Eyes.
I want to be her,
All of them, and none.
I want to be lost,
Unwilling, tame, voiceless,
Mindless, childless,
Sexless, man-less.
I want to be her, but I
Can’t.
I cannot because I am
Thought burdened, fat,
Violent, screaming,
Child laden, broken nosed,
Coarse.
I cannot because dirt
Flakes off my young
Skin.
Because my heart pumps,
Oxygenated blood,
At a steady, rhythmic
Beat.
My voice baritones,
Deep, bottomless,
Whispers.
I sit on flat, concave
Muscle.
My lungs breathe,
Strong, fresh, smog-less
Air.
Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden
Teeth.
Dark, musty, greased
Hair.
I want to be her,
But I won’t.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Illusions of skydiving in a kimono
are not nightmares that awaken her
in a sweat each night
Fantasies of floating like a drone
creep into morning daydreams
Unprepared for make-believe
no kimono hangs in her closet
Each day she stands in front
of her full-length mirror
stares at perceived imperfections
as they thicken before her eyes
Friends don’t notice
each misplaced mole
or cellulite pleading
to hide from any
audience
Co-workers notice her
post-it-note headline
“Intelligent Perfect Women
Skydives in Kimono”
affixed to the cubicle wall
Today results of
her search for kimonos
of various colors
is carefully placed in
a folder entitled skydiving
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Oh
to be the girl in those adverts ,
Light,
skinny,
beautiful
A tragic line
to every gentle rib
I fetishise her fragile fingers
A monstrous beast reflected in the mirror, the worst possibility.
Tis poetic, there she stares
Says her lines; remaining fair,
Into my face, My acting is heavy handed and awkward
She’s a consumable reality,
She’s easy on the eyes
The fragile female,
salvageable.
We are a tragedy of ages, her Juliet, I Faustus
They silently boo while I slop onto the stage
A lazy slob,The **** of society, just don’t eat you fat **** men like curvy girls We don’t want to see you, You’re so brave! You’re the problem, it’s not hard hide your mass from view, unkempt, repulsive, vile. hide yourself it offends my sharp eyes.
I open my drooling mouth to speak, but there are chins smothering my mouth
My eyes clouded by greasy cellulite
I don’t want to exist like this.
So just stop eating.
I’d give an arm and a leg,
my pale teeth,
my parasitic possibility
my child
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC
when you are twenty something and haven't
grown out of what your family called “baby
fat” don't worry, because you are still loved
by your body. everyday it wakes you up and
nourishes you, and when it fails to do that, it's
only a malfunction, a button hit wrong. when
you get shamed into wearing a one piece by
your friends in eighth grade, don't panic, because
that swimsuit is killer and everyone you are
with is working it. when your friends talk about
skinny shaming since they have never experienced
fat shaming, listen. when you see fat shaming,
talk about it. when your mother starts shopping
in the plus size area for you, don't feel ashamed.
your body is meant for what it is meant to do.
when you have a panic attack in the dressing
room of the local american eagle for not fitting
into size sixes, calm yourself down, no one will
ever see that size. black it out with a sharpie, cut
it out with scissors, let the tag fly. when you
get ****** into pro-ana sites, shut off your phone.
when you are on your knees with two fingers in
your mouth, close the toilet. when you use ice
cubes as a snack, eat something else. don't
let your brain become a calculator before it’s
too late. when you come into school the next
day, your friends complaining about a not flat
stomach, tell them that the sack needed to hold
parts of your body is not flat for a reason. when
they complain about size four jeans, show them
how you wear eights like a badge of honor, like
your lipstick or your hair. show your stretch marks
as tattoos, show your cellulite as gold, your hips
as the gates to your mansion, and your thighs are
thunder thighs, let them boom down and let them
be free.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
Boys don't like girls like me
Boys don't like girls
With frizzy hair
And red velvet tongues
Boys don't like girls
Who wear heavy boots
And leather jackets a size too big
With pins pushed through the fabric
Declaring their beliefs
Like picket signs
Boys don't like girls
With outie belly buttons
Boys don't like girls
Who shop in the men's section
At thrift stores
Boys don't like girls
Who shut themselves in ivory towers
And refuse to let down their hair
Because they're too afraid
Boys don't like girls
Who talk to plants
Boys don't like girls
Who pick the pickles off
Of their cheeseburger because
They believe its the best part
And you always save the best for last
Boys don't like girls
Who carry trauma on their backs like boulders
Boys don't like girls
Who don't know how to kiss
Without leaving
Blood stains on your lips
Boys don't like girls
Who write love poems for themselves
Who practice archery and witchcraft
Because it makes them feel stronger
Who dance in their kitchen
To the music of popping popcorn
Who shy away from touch
Because to them it feels like acid
Who have stretch marks and cellulite
Who'd rather stay at home with the dog
Than go to that party
Who have ice in their soul
Boys don't like girls like me
And I'm trying to be ok with that
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
my 3rd vice
my catalyst for food restriction
desperate to sooth my shattered self image
daily bombarded by airbrushed perfect female beauty
braking my image of beauty and showing my cellulite
followed by overloading information about fixing me
regular exercise, beauty routines and Cal restricted diets
insecurity the new female epidemic
we fight for women's rights
and threw the baby out with the bath water
a basic human need
unmet and exploited
our legacy
the English standard
geneticly out of reach for women of color
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
I see so many ads now
they feed into my insecurities
and help me to notice everything that is wrong with me.
"Got stretch marks?"
they ask, and my eyes shamefully
trace down my chest to my inner thighs and I learn to hate what I see.
So I read on, hoping to learn
how to get rid of the natural signs of an ageing vessel
"Neosporin, coconut oil, and olive, and they'll be gone in a week."
The ads proclaim, and so I do as they say
because how can I be pretty
if no one else thinks me so?
"10 Tips on How to Get the Relationship of Your Dreams"
"5 Signs that You're Not as Pretty as You Think You Are"
"4 Things to Try to Spice Up Your *** Life"
"1 Way to Tell Whether the Creepy Old Man on the Corner Thinks You're Worthy of Being Catcalled by Him"
I read on, trying to understand what it is to be pretty
but the more I see,
the more hopeless I become
Men will only ever see me as a piece of meat,
just a pair of **** and an ***
only there for their enjoyment or pleasure.
but I am not here to make things easy,
I am more than the sum of my parts,
more than my cellulite and hip dips
I revel in my stretch marks
I have grown into the woman I am today,
and I refuse to erase the proof of that.
Apr 18, 2023
Apr 18, 2023 at 11:18 PM UTC
Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.
That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.
Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.
in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
cuz she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.
The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting backriding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.
and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is looking old
and I’m feeling cold as steel.
but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.
seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and you're lost in the Harper's Bazaar.
My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.
and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and ***** up our wires
and leave our *** life on the brink.
Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.
And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day when you'd hold me and say
that I'm the THE ONE you've always wanted.
But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweatpool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.
Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.
Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
When you hold me
I forget to be insecure
About my size
About my numbers
About my body
I forget to worry
About my lumpy thighs
About my jiggly tummy
About my pudgy arms
You stroke each limb
And kiss every inch
As if none of it matters
As if you don't care
That I'm fat
You aren't afraid to touch
My cellulite
My bumps
My pudge
The things
Nobody else wanted
Nobody else would touch
Nobody else saw as desirable
You touch them
You hold them
You kiss them
You make love to them
You flat out love them
Because for some reason
You don't care
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
I broke my deep plum plump up lip gloss container today.
It was just long enough to fit in my hand and stick out just that little bit,
And just thick enough that when I gripped it tight
and slammed it into my thighs over and over and over
it left pretty pink circular marks along the cellulite.
Those marks gained in number until I was staring,
breathless and trembling, at a bruise the size of a softball.
I took another breath and hit myself one more time
and the plastic broke covering my hand and leg
in that dark purple colour I would see in a few hours
but in a much more lasting shade this time.
I threw the gloss into the bin inside the bathroom stall
wiped the mess up with toilet paper
and traced the bumps beneath my skin
Mad because I had to punish myself, but also
Mad because my brain told me I deserve it.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
Wear dresses from the clearance rack
That show the red bumps after shaving my legs
I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
A recipe for nothing special at all
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her **** brown eyes
And curvy hips
That sway in the sun
You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous way
And you see
Just how perfect I am
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
Men, fickle friends, will stray.
Cheesecake, sweetest cellulite, will stay.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 10:30 AM UTC
You traced every contour of my body
Every wrinkle of skin that I hate
Every cellulite budge that I find repulsive
And told me that I was beautiful in skin that I have been fighting my whole life to crawl out of.
In your arms I feel whole
The weight of the world is no longer my own
I feel weightless.
Pushing myself deeper into you
So deep that my problems no longer matter
You make it all go away
You make me feel beautiful through long nights
Through tragic days
Through pain as well as glory.
You make me feel like I can do this.
Thank you.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
You strip naked and then
Display your protruding ribs and your gentle curves
Bask in the lust and admiration of drooling men
Glued to their MacBooks, fingers pressed to nerves
You think you are a *** symbol
Your beauty commands respect
Strong and nimble
Attention simply what you expect
But you’re wrong about your power
You’re weak, tied with a tether
A fragile, dainty flower
Crumbling under a feather
You do what they tell you to do
Tiny **** are better than sagging thighs
Body hair like buzzing flies
Cellulite
Overnight
You are a socialite
Swallow pills so hearty
Starve day after day as you become more vein
Stay up all night at parties
Prolong the pain
Hover over the toilet below
Half crying, half vomiting, hungover
Your guilty pleasures are reality shows
The Biggest Loser, Extreme Makeover
Love, *** and lust
Drive you to do this
Or maybe you just want trust
For someone to care instead of dismiss
The powder from the thick white sponge invades your nostrils
It is the bread, your red nail polish the wine
Vogue and Cosmo your glossy gospels
Your closetful of designer shoes a shrine
Cocktail dresses and Gucci are your new burger and draught
Finding nourishment in Martinis, icy words
Why do you think this will make up for your past?
All it does is make it worse
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC