photo by the author
Misti Rainwater-Lites – Kohl’s Dressing Room Mirror
Today I saw myself in the Kohl’s dressing room mirror.
I saw my tits.
I saw my stomach.
“Fuck,” I thought, “no wonder he wants to fuck me in the dark.”
I could be so much hotter!
Still, I didn’t punish myself.
I bought the $40 skinny jeans and the Vera Wang top.
Goddamn it, overweight chicks need glamor, too.
I walked to Wal-Mart.
I bought peanuts.
I bought fiber bars.
I bought bell peppers.
I bought green fucking beans.
Today I danced to YouTubes.
Today I thought, “Well, I could be a helluva lot hotter
but if I put too much time and energy into walking around
the duck park and saying NO to beer and honey buns
I might start being boring and we can’t have that.
Can we have it all? Magic 8 Ball doesn’t think so!”
I can make myself cum in under ten minutes
and I can write a novel.
That’s the main thing.
FUCK. I’m lying.
I want to be hotter than the bitch who got away.
I want to be Brooke Shields before she got her period.
I want to be Pamela Anderson after her first procedure.
I want to be a Poison video all over my man’s dick.
Fuck it. I’ll multi-task.
I’ll slay this dragon, this thirty extra pounds,
and I’ll be goddamn exciting about it.
I’ll buy a new hula hoop, put on a show.
I’ll burlesque my way into Heaven one grind at a time.
Heaven, of course, is his dick in the air, always
with my name and lipstick all over it,
a permanent tattoo.