I was thinking about how wonderful breasts are. They nurture babies, look great on our chests, are soft and yielding to touch, take us back to our childhoods. They are a symbol of power, a symbol of comfort, a symbol of motherhood. They are fantastic!
At my breasts
That once beguiled
My hungry baby’s
One of a nation
But my barren breasts
No milk would yield
At my breasts
Soft, sweet flesh
That kneads like
Sweet, warm playdough
In a toddler’s palm
Tell me that
Devour me slowly
Ease me, tease me
Dulcify the stress
At my breasts
Behold how fucking
Great that women
Have these awesome
Symbols of matriarchy
Women envied by
Victims of misogyny
Now standing proud
And rising up
But what straight guy
To nestle in
A bosom tender
Inhaling sweet beJesus
Their mother’s breast
© 2020 Sarah Drury
My tummy was hanging like a butcher’s apron
My arse was saggy like an old bin bag
My tits were touching my belly button
And my chin was wobbling like an old, sad hag.
So I decided to go to Fat Club.
I walked through the door to be greeted by
Ladies of stature and ample size
Wobbling all over the meeting room
They looked at me without a hint of surprise.
I was home.
Home with the ladies all big and bold
The sisterhood of the more plus sized knickers
And bras like hammocks with boulders in
With the chocolate munchers and cream cake pickers.
Dreaming of tiramisu and crème brulee
Fantasies of a cream trifle orgy
Swimming around in a sea of toffee
Indulging in passions, pseudo-sexual glory!
Weigh in time!
One by one the victims were called to the scales
Like prisoners waiting their turn to be hanged
The suspense, so intense, no pretence was allowed
Would I have gained a pound? Would I end up harangued?
And the ladies they waited, they twitched in their chairs
As they looked shit scared with their faces like death
And they learned of their fate, if they’d put on weight
Or lost a few stone from smoking that meth.
And it was my turn now, so I stepped on the scales
And I shit myself as the verdict was revealed
And the woman she looked with a face like a fart
As she waggled her finger, my fate was sealed.
And I sit here and munch on my lettuce and cucumber
Cherry tomatoes don’t taste like a cake
And the low fat yoghurt tastes like puke
And the slimming world meals are a real piss take
Its only week one and I’m starving to death
As my son stuffs a pizza and gloats like a dick
And my stomach is grumbling, resilience is failing
If I eat much more salad, I’m going to be sick.
So, to fat club I’m giving the middle finger
I’ll continue to fill up my plus size bra
And my stomach can flourish in its lycra knickers
And my tits can wobble near and far
For I don’t need to be like a string of piss
I am fat, I am proud, and I’m a fucking star!
© Sarah Drury 2019