I was hot once.
Second glances followed
me home
like puppies smelling
steak and cuddles.
Ripe melons perched
under my collar bone,
hips swaying like
a porch swing
under a willow tree.
Seriously.
I was hot.
I didn't meet stretch marks
until my 10-pound bundles
of joy
introduced us.
Then twins arrived
to strike the final deal,
signing my middle with
a flourish,
matching it to
a roadmap of Texas.
My husband ran
his hand across
my wrinkled stomach.
"You're hot"
he said.
He loves the lines
dancing over me.
To him
they tell the story
of us.
About the Creator
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
Love this.
Beautiful piece