submarine dreams

fat girls have souls too.

I actually love this piece. Enough to have it on my blog. It also makes me want cake.

my mother always told me i was too fat to be pretty — that underneath my ginormous breasts and heaving rolls, there was a skinny girl — screaming to be let out. i blamed her for not starving me, so my greatest purpose in life was to suck the joy out of my mothers perfect mouth, to punch her tight jaw and sense of righteousness with my disobedience. i was her punishment — she birthed a monster, a fat girl.

i would gladly pick cake over any man.

there it was, sitting in the fridge. waiting for me - waiting to be bit into — the sweet deliciousness of the chocolate, the flavour of the rich ingredients lingering on my tongue. cake is like cock — it fills you up, just right.

this is what heaven must taste like.

i cut myself a slice,”justified, for the bad day at work, let me wash it down with a glass of milk.”

i ate every morsel. then i cut a second slice.“this is going straight to my thighs” another bite, of that decadence. “but men like women with curves”

“more cushion for that pushin’” i am vile, but fat girls have souls too. my mother wouldn’t have to worry about me being raped — in fact, she never told me to lock my car doors, i could crush anyone with my left thigh.

tonight i would eat my heart out. i felt guilty. if i were to have a heart attack, all they would find, was cake mashed up in my insides, but the horror on my mother’s face would be worth dying for.

i cut into the last slice, “if there is hell, i’m going straight to fatty hell”

they say, you are what you eat - then i must be cake.