"flab" poems
He dreamed he was loved.
A love guarded fiercely, with passion.
A love that was not unconditional.
Not the blank slate love of a child
or an animal so programmed by instinct.
This love was willful and earned.
Having glimpsed an injured brilliance
beneath the flab and sweat and stench she weaned it to health.
Making it stronger, and brighter,
and more prominent with each passing day; until it erupted.
And he was transformed.
to embody that brilliance.
And she protected that embodiment.
Letting nothing call it to question.
She cared for him as he never could for himself.
She soothed and softened
and loved the deep furrow from his brow.
And her passion overwhelmed him.
And he wanted for nothing.
And when he opened his eyes
To **** and filth
with only the kiss of concrete
and the banter of horns
and obscenities
and footsteps.
******* FOOTSTEPS.
Heels pittering purposefully to mask exhausted uncertainty
Brogues, and wingtips clicking; with a cocky juvenile illusion of importance.
Boots plodding heavily under the weight of duty,
to build, and fix, and secure for the others.
And through a fog laid thick and throbbing
by poisons chased dutifully the night before;
he felt her fierce love for a fleeting moment
Guarding, and loving his shining brilliance
until it erupted from him;
With bile and blood, **** and regret
coldly rejected by his concrete companion.
And she was gone once again.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
Dear Brianna Evelyn Heins,
Stop Spanx sitting me, I’m old enough to take shape of my own.
Sincerely,
You’re Hips
P.S.
Stop convincing the lips to call me flab-u-lous!
I have my own name.
Stop knocking the knuckles to bone
To hear that hollow hound sound, now don’t use me in your measurement references, I want to live a day
Without spinning round the bouncy bands of your operation game
I’ve seen tweezers fall out of your eyes, to plummet under my moon shone complexion
Please keep in mind the brain is a liar.
And well, I have no twins; your pessimistic ways don’t acknowledge my individuality
The color of shame is not moving, while your red majestic
beast hair torturously tickles my clear space of face.
Brianna,
The brain is a liar!
I know you are told you’re observant;
The deception is grand
Stop pretending you know me
Let me dance dizzy
with the calves
Like coming out of the closet
I’m showing you I’ll never be straight
but brains whisper “weep, weep, weepweepweep”
at the sight of the salt soaked, taffy stretched skin
the brain sends me signals, but I beg for the heart to seep in
Please listen up
rarely do I talk,
for you think words are merely a sound
but the profoundness hasn’t shaken
I know you must feel my urges like
I’m on tonight and my hips don’t lie
beauty may lay in the fragile way I sway
said I’m below
But to hell with you
because this bridge can be crossed
but embers fly in you eyes
and the brain is a liar
a family member I wholeheartedly despise.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
flat at
flake lake
flame lame
flamenco cool
flamingo goof
flapped lapped
flayed layed
flavor vortex
flannel electricity
flag lag
flash lash
flaxen axen
flab lab
flail ail
flattering ring
flaw law
flair air
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
For my mate Chris
To sit around in anger…does no favours,
To bellyache to me… It’s all unfair,
To hope somebody else… comes up with answers,
To see the world’s shortcomings… flaunted there.
A lack of motivation keeps you grounded
Friends and family try to keep you at arm’s length,
You loathe the Government’s lack of comprehension
In that joblessness depletes your hope and strength.
You feel those carbohydrates clog your arteries
And see your muscled body turn to flab,
Discipline’s resolve flies to oblivion
And you curse all that… which makes your life so drab.
Disappointment curbs the high expectations,
You feel the planet owes you that, to which you seek,
Aghast to comprehend your own misgivings,
You feel the need to say…but then, you never speak.
Then suddenly… a stark, clear realization
That NOTHING HERE WILL CHANGE…UNTIL YOU DO,
Until you turn around your thinking to endeavour,
Till then that something that you seek… shall hide from you.
So look, my sweetness, look into the mirror
Shed the worry lines that always cloud your brow,
Kick your sorry **** profoundly to tomorrow
And lose the ****** shards of bitterness….RIGHT NOW!
Marshalg
Endeavouring to re-motivate a lost cause.
18 August 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
When you're 70, you're gonna look like a piece of flab anyway.
We're all gonna look like a piece of flab anyway
but that's not the point
you're absolutely beautiful. It doesn't seem to mean anything though
I don't quite understand how to make one feel beautiful if they can't love themselves.
Nobody should be killing themselves over goals that are almost impossible to achieve in body image, ESPECIALLY if they're healthy to begin with, you wanna look skinny, then have fun getting skinny, staying skinny and living skinny. Maaaaaaan. Nobody wants to just eat salad. Eat what the **** you want. just don't ******* stuff yourself every time!
god ****** girls, you're all ******* stupid for killing yourselves over this body image thing. you can all be beautiful, as long as you feel good about yourself, but I mean...if being skinny as a toothpick is your ultimate goal. If that's how you think you'll truly achieve your hapiness.
Be my guest, try it out, tell me how it feels when ya get there.
tips: **** what people have to say, if you have some extra weight, but are HEALTHY, then **** them!
if you're truly upset, don't sulk, and do something about it then. Don't be ******* brainwashed by society, SOCIETY IS STUPID LOL. Why on earth would you want to do the SAME THING that EVERYBODY else is doing? I don't understand. You ******* idiots
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
I have to run faster now,
I have to leave this town,
Change my name,
Change my face,
**** my identity and leave no trace,
The monster you made is creeping in the dark,
Yearning for the taste of a beating heart,
The bitter scent of soiled blood,
Alcohol and cigarettes,
Another fish caught in the net.
This kid is far from a ***** hot mess,
When he's unable to hide the stress,
To hold down tears that smell like Jack,
Barely able to keep himself back,
From the edge of his so called sanity,
Fractured by the pressure of male vanity.
This MANnequin is just a boy,
18 years and feels destroyed,
Metal pecs and washboard abs,
A dream of his while he covers the 'flab',
Betrayed by friends who style their hair
While he keeps on running so they don't stare
At the failure of physical attraction,
Repulsed by the existence of his own reflection,
Another flaw on a social scale,
A grizzly end to this unwanted tale.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
Those dog days of summer
Near forgotten and gone,
Are stored for the winter,
And remembered in song.
The dogs' days of winter
Tell a different tale,
Of dogs pulling sleds
In Alaska for mail;
Or searching the Alps
Bringing whiskey and ale,
Panting and pulling
In hills, waters and dales.
Siberian Huskies,
The Great Pyrenees,
The Alaskan Malamute,
Run off their tails
Battling death and disease.
The Keeshond
Doesn't wear
Wooden clogs,
Like the Newfie
And Wolfhound,
They're winter work dogs.
If working in snow
Isn't enough to freeze fur,
Look to the Lab,
In frigid waters
In layers of warm flab
Helping fishermen,
Or retrieving a lad.
These warm furied friends
Will work til their end.
The dog days of summer
Ran off with the pack,
Leaving the dogs
Of our winters
To haul, trail and track.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Imagining the perfect girl
Is a fantasy of mine.
Every feature perfect
in proportion by design.
I’d have to start with
Elizabeth Taylor’s
captivating eyes.
Anne Hathaway has perfect skin
and is the perfect size.
Emmy Rossum’s flowing hair
Attracts some envious eyes
J-Lo is most bootyful.
Sweet Scarlett has nice thighs.
Mila Kunis gams are fab
And she is worldly wise.
To make her warm and welcoming
Add Julia Roberts’ smile
Of course this perfect girl of mine
Would want some change in me..
Six inches taller would be nice,
Then I’d be six foot three..
I’d then be perfect for my weight
The abs would come with time.-
I’m sure they’re somewhere buried
underneath this flab of mine.
I’d have to dye my hair for her,
to hide the tell tale gray.
Some dental work to fix my smile.
And keep bad breathe at bay……
It seems a lot of work to me.
I’d not enjoy the rack.
I’m better off right where I am
than having to deal with that!
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 9:28 PM UTC
This is a nice walk.
Good job I've gone
Out and about
I ate way too much today
I need to burn that off
Christ, my belly looks huge!
OK, breathe in, breathe in
I wonder what I'll have
For tea tonight
It'd better be something light
I had a bar of chocolate last night
I wonder how many calories
I've left for the day
What do My Fitness Pal say?
600. That's okay
BUT
It would be better
To have less
I'm at a party this weekend
So I'll probably eat and drink
More than I should
I could just skip tea altogether?
Wow, my thighs really rub together
That's disgusting
Yeah, I probably should
(I definitely shouldn't wear shorts)
I wonder what I'll do tonight
Maybe go for a run?
I'm tired from last night's, but
I'll be happier once it's done
I look disgusting
In everything right now
Maybe it'll help me be
A little trimmer for that party?
Oh God, that person's looking at me
I bet they're judging
My double chin
OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO BREATHE IN.
For God's sake
Why can't I just be thin?
There are too many people about
I should have waited
'til it was dark
My flab is less stark
Less to remark on
If people can't see properly
It's OK, nearly home now
...That was a nice walk.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 2:07 PM UTC
Said, I can show you around the blackberry bush –
I planted it last summer, you know, that June you coasted
to university and stopped having crushes on cousins.
Said, you grew your hair long.
I toss it out the window many mornings:
dewdrops as a conditioner and tease strollers with
a crease by my armpit you like(d), my flab on the side –
I impress others now, men cling to the bottom of my skirt
and suckle on the hem to make each thread fray.
Said, but your knees feel dusty up against mine.
There is no big wide world, no plum summit skies below
the cuff of another person’s dress shirt –
just a watch. Remind me how much time I have left
until extinction, no hand held or hug goodbye:
this is a kingdom where nothing can die
and when it does, seeds are sown in the pelt of your heart.
Said, no, I bred this world for the fireflies.
Said, there are berry-droppings on your chin.
You look as if you’ve eaten licorice or caught lung cancer;
I wish you had, I wish I had never called you sugar.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
\|/
@-@
( -Q- )
<=>
how I
drool over obese girls
with huge great cheeks
of wobbly dimpled fat
>========o======== no skinny birds for me!=======o========<
absolutely no way
yeeha
i love to see wobbly
fat girls waddling along
with their tyres of white flab
quivering in their size 88 jeans
like a pack of rabid rabbits fighting
in a rubber sack, and what do they need
yessir, they are barking for a friendly *****
from moi, edna the chubby-chaser and lover
of gorgeous female flesh body mass index forty
(at an absolute total minimum i must emphasise)
and preferable fifty so they look like a giant dumpling
i know you know the sort of image i crave: dimpled, dappled
acreages of heaving ********** wowee-yowee i am so excited
please god lead me to the land where the extra supersize fatties live
and let me exhaust my ***** gaze on their incredible buxom enormities
let me get my paws on them let me wallow in their glories dear god
oh yes indeedy when you come to think of it there's nothing like
a huge billowing fatso to get my blood afire with testosterone
and bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping loving lust
so why not jump off a pier
all you skinny minnies
per-lease
/\
/ \
/ \
@ @
/ \
/ \
+++ +++
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
When I was younger my best friend's sister asked me why my thighs were so much bigger than hers and without missing a beat I scrunched my eyebrows and said, "because my legs are so much stronger."
Since then my self-image is every teenage girl's sob story of not enough this or that, too much one way, too much in general
(i **** in my stomach when you put your arm around my waist)
and I've been trying to tell myself it's strength that matters,
but sometimes jutting bones seem like they'd hold up a little more than the flab of my stomach, like they'd put up a better fight against the sharp looks I'd give myself in the god **** mirror,
and maybe that's why I went from cutting my fleshy thighs to cutting my hip bones because **** my hip bones for being the only bones that weren't covered in fat.
I used to tell myself it'd be easy to skip every meal in exchange for 2 almonds and occasionally a piece of deli-cut turkey, I used to try for days to cut down on acceptable portions, and some days I'd win and I'd eat nothing and sometimes I'd win more and not think about it.
I used to try so hard to wrap my fingers around my ribs or to get my friends to stop saying my *** looked huge ("in a good way") but I was taught when young that overeating was okay because I'd sit at my plate until I swallowed everything that was given to me. I'd sit in the dark on nights I couldn't chew my chicken fast enough, since day 1 I've been a bad eater. I'd get yelled at for being full and now I'm always full but still eating and bones still seem stronger than my jiggly thighs and no, i can't wrap my fingers around my ribs, but if i **** in enough, i can see the outline
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
There no longer is light in once brightly lit blue eyes
The light has faded being overrun by
Rotting alone with the steam of the bath drawn
High in heat and low in self esteem
She sits wrinkling in her own decaying moods
The razored edge pressed against the bite plain palm of her left hand
The nails on her right too bitten and bruised from a nervous tick
That was earned over the formidable years of solitude
In the presence of a man, women or child
She chewed those nails untill only ****** stumps remained
To hold the blade against the skin
As she slits the frightened skin, it splits open against the cool metal
Repeatedly freezing her dead beating heart
Giving jumps to an amnesiac heart that forgot
The drums in which it beat alongside to the tune
Peeling at the edges to reveal a rotten core
Oozing with an unknown slime
The black coloured lumps of already clotted blood
From the twenty times before
She took the razor again in her hands
Again and
Again and over
Again.
Slowly and always she's been cutting off her life line
One slit of the vein at a time
Exposing the eroded mess of a body
And the tangles of a decomposing brain that is
Wishing away her life upon a dream
A dream inside the dream of a life that was not her own
The model who lives in anorexia, who cannot actually breathe
But it is what she wishes.
So her bones jut out like flags against the bathtubs silkiness
Her face is sunken, a hallowed place with no life
Her bones etched and engraved with years of fear
From the "dimples" and layers of fat that stuck to her like glue
The "flab" that was skin that hung loosely from her ribs
An aspiration that caused this illness
And set her on the course of searching for a homedial cure
Yet, she is not thin enough, so she cuts away the flesh upon her body
With salt mixing with soap
From her once bright blue eyes and
The suds within the steaming water
That lap against her skin like a cat tongue
Roughly tormenting her already devoured soul
A harsh reminder of what she could never have
So the resolution she came up was to carve away her insides
To give away her vitals to the poor children in the world
In an attempt to be rendered thin and to disappear from plain sight
But she still can't choose what stays and what fades away
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
The day was hot, the hours long.
I couldn't wait to go home.
Covered in sweat, from toiling outside,
I was reeking of sandy loam.
The clothes dropped off on my way in,
I could hardly wait to shower.
The faucets running at top speed,
It would take more than solar power.
The steam rose up, the water poured,
At last! I found some bliss.
Scrubbed until I was glowing pink,
Not an inch of flesh I'll miss.
Finally calm, I relaxed a bit,
The vanilla scent made me smile.
My hair was clean, I felt brand new.
Now to get perky for a while.
Turbanned hair gave my eyes a lift.
I just knew my face would glow.
As I sashayed in my fluffy towel,
To the mirror, I turned to show.
As I wiped the mirror, so I could see,
I started in surprise!
Surely, THAT couldn't be me!
But, yep, the same green eyes.
The temporary face lift fell,
The cat-eyes started to droop.
Dreading to take the body towel off,
Fearing the rest just looked like ****
My oh my, where did it go?
That *** that looked so fab!
My age crept in when I was asleep,
And, turned me all to flab!
Deb Nixon
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
_scrub scrub_
_brush brush_
you’ll never be perfect
you’re not good enough
no use in wearing makeup
it can’t work miracles
besides
you can barely get out of bed anyway
slip on that sweatshirt
baggy to cover your fat
look at those fat thighs
the flab on those arms
no wonder everyone who loved you has left
fat
ugly
cover yourself up
shorts are a battle
bikinis an impossibility
might as well just give up
body positivity only works for pretty girls
and trust me
you’re not one of them
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
Oh, Howling Wind,
Rupture my senses.
Freeze them.
Walk through them.
**** them.
Ashen them.
Erase them in the slides of a past catacomb.
A fragile memory it is,
Falling into the dark closed of the Beneaths.
Folded into its darker flab.
Be my accomplice in the helms.
Up till the hems,
Drag me into the deeper,
Make me another you.
A part of you.
A synechdoche.
A part of your whole.
Just a mere part.
Then, pull me to the core.
Into that black.
Sear me first.
End me with a scar.
Rain me.
Cleanse into me.
For the last sepulcher.
For the last dirge.
For that last sweet hymn.
Of the awls sealed into my ruptures.
Of my torn cartilages.
Of my scattered distastes.
Of my oblivated conscience.
the symphony of my pain.
Sing with me.
Howl within me.
Rush through me.
Be my paroxysm. My mirage and Ilucion.
Be my vortex.
And my, reason.
My wail and my groan.
My facade and my heave.
Sear me in your wrath to be the wraith of vengeance.
Reach out for the darker.
Shout out with me.
Take me with you.
Hurricane me in your divine dance.
To the Up above. Fuse in me.
Impregnate me.
Blend in.
Diffuse me to dissolve in you.
Just howl till you die, with me.
My sweet love.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
Good morning my dear how do you do
Even though we have not talked in a month or two
Please remember I’m still stalking you
Remember when you took at the trash last week
You know you were half dressed with no shoes on your feet
Flaccid flab flying in the wind while you raced back in
Leaving lots of goodies for me to find in your garbage bin
Like an early Christmas present or a late birthday gift
Made me so happy I could slit your girlfriend’s wrist
Dump the body in the ravine I don’t think she’d be missed
Anyway I dove into that lovely little treasure trove
To find something cool and found the freaking mother load
I got your toenail clippings, a couple locks of hair
A ****** band aid, there was plenty of DNA there
A soda can which once touch your lips
I quiver all over just thinking about it
And the best thing of all I found in that trash heap
A restraining order to prove you were thinking of me
So I wrote you this letter I will place it at your Window
You may never see me but I’ll be with you wherever you go
Signed
Your Stalker
P.S. Leave your bedroom light on at night
Or else we are going to have a problem, alright
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
Higher.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC
There are two spoilt children
Both boasting and showing there “might”
Each as childish as the other
Ants watch out! Here comes the magnifying glass!
No wait, that’s a cherry bomb
Look… the other kid is chewing on his rocket pop
One is a self-entitled god that does not take *****
The other is a self-entitled ****
I hate immigrants the fatter one says
Ohh look a pretty immigrant woman,
I think I will marry her
I am a “god” with a fools haircut
With a penchant for assassination
Both lobbing stones across the river
Flexing their jelly rolled flab
Each staring into the others eyes
Silently dreaming, ever sleepless
On each bank a heart drawn in the sand
Crazy loves crazy is what they say
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
The show's not over
till the fat lady snores,
I should know,
I was there, 1973
or 74 and Mahler
still playing
on her Hi-Fi,
the last movement
of the Ist symphony.
We liked that, made
love to it, wondering
what Gustav
would have made
of that, the fat dame
and me, empty
whiskey glasses
on the table, curtains
drawn against
the night sky and moon.
The first time
she snored,
her soft whiskey breath,
her globes caught
in moon's glow,
her closed eyes
like upturned shells.
Her Scottish tongue
soft but sharp, her
flab sufficient
to keep warm
if needed,
but it was along ago,
she's gone now,
so I heard, my fat
dame lover, my ***
making love bird.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
From age sixteen to twenty, I had a 32-inch waist
Not an ounce of fat, not even a trace.
What happened to my youthful body?
When I had all muscle and no flab
Now all this weight I have to drag.
It is hell when you lose that youthful ***
Where people s heads turn and they nod.
Now my gut hangs over my belt
This is the worst I have ever felt.
They say when you get older your muscles tend to relax
Looks like I have to charge an overweight income tax!
They say in your fifties you are in your prime
“What happened to mine? “
When we get older, we are supposed to revert
Back to our childhood years, but apparently
Our bodies have some fears.
It birth it was our parents who used to change our diapers
Now our children are changing them!
GOD is truly a comedian!
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
She's burning the cigarettes
Smoking one too many tabs
Clasping her lips lightly
As if taking care of the flab
She has her spirit visibly loud
Walking down on the street
Flaunting her grey jacket and orange nikes
Crafting a steady smile sweet
There's a strangeness in her love
Passion that blooms through contagious
My mind in awe of her art
Worshiping the physique tenacious
Portuguese like Diamond
Her composition rhetorical
Mysterious in nature, living as she wills
To know her is to own a coracle
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC
If hempen cloth to paupers garb is made,
Grey daubed as hearth'd ash, rough as firewood kindling,
And for each king, gold silken raiments laid,
Bright as the jesters smock for courtly mingling,
What garment fit for thee Clotho would make?
Unto her spindle all threads are first woven,
And of thy lot? Why, Lachesis would take!
And gift to Atropos to see thee cloven!
Who then should fret to say my garb is drab?
Tis not thine outer skin three fates have wrought,
So of thine self, judge not thy bone, thy flab,
For in thee, fates have spun all thou has sought!
Thy measured lot was cast afore thy waking,
And strength in thee to set the heavens shaking!
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC