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Fat non-humans.

August 3, 2010 \am\31 7:44 am

[A poem made entirely of phrases from Victor Lavalle’s Guardian article, Why I spent two years having phone sex]

fat people are perverts
I needed the outside world
a belly without stretchmarks, I couldn’t wait to get away

I was dressed like a fat person
more than 25 stone and crippled by self-loathing
self-pitying (or self-aggrandising)
a sad joke
drifting through the lifeless void
as long as you couldn’t see me
using euphemisms about your penis
ridiculous shit
at least that was true for me
I aspired to lethargy
I couldn’t pull myself out of bed

we were there to talk dirty into our telephones
and masturbate in our separate darkened rooms
twenty-one, horny and incapable
women who don’t get any kind of loving for years
our messages were either lewd or pornographic

she undoes my jeans and slides them down
she said I didn’t have to walk her home
she asked again if I liked her blouse
I hadn’t really cared about a woman
her face showed none of the same enthusiasm
maybe she was in a wheelchair

at night she entertained her gentleman callers
calling out the name of a different man
a dozen Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnuts
I’m not talking about the sex

I’m outside looking in through your window
suffocate the poor woman
now I’m standing by your bed

pent-up glee
like dried-out riverbeds
a groan of disgust
preparing for an explosion
my skin touched open air, my mind drifted away

the craft had blown to bits
victory parades were thrown in my honour
I’d exercised and dieted myself
goodbye to me
I was no longer tethered to anything

lonely women destroy themselves
down to under 14 stone
they get weird
besieged by more appropriate partners
their anger becomes palpable
lumpy and lazy

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