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.

©Susie Clevenger 2016

Real Toads ~ Not What We Came To See ~ Micro Poetry

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.
August 21, 2016 at 5:26 PM
Angie said…
What's the fate of Saturday's middle child? Is there anything good in looking back? I'd venture to say, sometimes Not.
August 21, 2016 at 5:57 PM
Sherry Blue Sky said…
Powerfully put, Susie......especially opening the baggage, that doesn't free one from any weight.
August 21, 2016 at 7:35 PM
Jim said…
I feel or her, Susie. Nicely told.
Like, "I don't want to know why, just help me loose some."
..
August 21, 2016 at 10:27 PM
brudberg said…
There is a sense of wanting or stay invisible... Too much to carry on such small shoulders.
August 21, 2016 at 11:29 PM
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.
August 22, 2016 at 2:06 AM
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.
August 22, 2016 at 8:04 AM
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.
August 22, 2016 at 11:54 AM
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
August 22, 2016 at 1:27 PM
Anonymous said…
I was raised by a Nazi (literally).
My theosophist was an Afro-American music teacher (ironic)
So this poem hit hard
August 22, 2016 at 3:18 PM
Gillena Cox said…
This little poem racks sadness in a peculiar way which keeps the audience wet eyed fixed to your screen

Much love...
August 22, 2016 at 6:16 PM
Marian said…
Somehow that green plaster seems so sinister. Yikes!
August 23, 2016 at 9:32 AM
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
August 24, 2016 at 1:54 AM
Buddah Moskowitz said…
As a chubby girl myself, this fired on every cylinder for me. Brave and heart-wrenching.
August 25, 2016 at 11:33 AM
Post a Comment