"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Chubby Girl


Mein Kampf steams in the corner.
Ice cream melts from shame.
A chubby girl prays she remains
unnoticed between cake and sweet tea.
Saturday’s a middle child trying
to scrape memories from green plaster.
Dear Therapist, this little trip through rewind
keeps opening baggage, but doesn’t
free me of any weight.

14 comments :

Magaly Guerrero said...

This makes me so sad. I want to hug the girl...

You've jammed a world of emotion into a wee poem, Susie.

angieinspired said...

What's the fate of Saturday's middle child? Is there anything good in looking back? I'd venture to say, sometimes Not.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Powerfully put, Susie......especially opening the baggage, that doesn't free one from any weight.

Jim said...

I feel or her, Susie. Nicely told.
Like, "I don't want to know why, just help me loose some."
..

brudberg said...

There is a sense of wanting or stay invisible... Too much to carry on such small shoulders.

rallentanda said...

Saturday's child has to work hard for a living...that is all I remember from the rhyme.Sometimes I question the value of rewind( although I suppose it pays the therapists' expensive ski hols) ...If you did not have a memory...your life could only just be now.

hedgewitch said...

'..Saturday’s a middle child trying
to scrape memories from green plaster...' very hard-hitting line, Susie--as is the poem. How even if we can't hide physically, we do our best to do so mentally. The baggage just keeps tagging along, too. I'd like to drop it on someone's foot some days.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Every line hits hard, Susie. Your portrait is painted in bold strokes: discomfort and painful memories. The figurative language is so wonderfully layered - very inspiring work.

Anmol (HA) said...

Ah. It's just so emotional; every image and every line speak of silent things. To get away from the reality of it, we stay in this cocoon shutting ourselves in. And unraveling it sometimes only increases the burden; bringing it to the forefront makes it heavier.
Beautiful, raw and hard-hitting. One of my favorites by you.

-HA

Martin Kloess said...

I was raised by a Nazi (literally).
My theosophist was an Afro-American music teacher (ironic)
So this poem hit hard

gillena cox said...

This little poem racks sadness in a peculiar way which keeps the audience wet eyed fixed to your screen

Much love...

Marian said...

Somehow that green plaster seems so sinister. Yikes!

kaykuala said...

this little trip through rewind
keeps opening baggage, but doesn’t
free me of any weight.

Sad to think that such sad episodes keep happening. The disadvantage of seeing them keep wracking the conscience!

Hank

Buddah Moskowitz said...

As a chubby girl myself, this fired on every cylinder for me. Brave and heart-wrenching.

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