The Deadly Sins of Dieting (From a Rachel McKibbens Prompt)

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I don’t typically publish my poems online; but every once in awhile, I like to share. This is based off of a Rachel McKibbens prompt she gave during last month’s NaPoMO 30/30. It was to write a series of vignettes based on the seven Deadly Sins. This is my take on it. Hope you enjoy.

 

I.

The magazines pile up.

A dozen different diets and

the same slim bodies on the covers.

Same hourglass waist, same

tan, tones muscles.

Same self-satisfied smile.

I call bullshit on the “Lose 8 pounds

a week while dieting only 2 days!”

I wonder what I need get at the store to start that?

I look for my last pair of fat jeans.

 

II.

That bitch in front of me has to be

a size-Motherfucking-2.

And eating Twinkies.

I’ll fucking show her what she can do with those

Goddamn twinkies!

She’ll wish she were Tallahassee with an ass load of Zombies

ready to chew after I shove an entire box in her pie-hole!

AND a Dr. Pepper!

FUCK!

 

If ever I wanted someone to get a sugar-coma–

If ever I wanted to run somebody down with a Hostess

Truck– just for the irony–

If I ever wanted to find Richard-fucking-Simmons

and yell “YOU’RE WRONG YOU MANOREXIC LITTLE BASTARD!”

It’s right now.

I want a fucking twinkie.

 

III.

I want twinkies AND ice cream.

Butter Pecan.

I want a pizza tonight.

I want to use my Belly Dancing workout DVD

as a coaster for my Yoo-Hoo.

I want to Google the recipe for deep-fried twinkies–

I just  know you can make those at home.

I want an extra large pizza–

pepperoni and onion.

I want the fancy butter pecan ice cream.

 

IV.

I really don’t want to clean the vomit off the floor.

Damn, that’s a lot of twinkie wrappers.

How many pieces of pizza are left?

Oh… now I know why I have to clean vomit up off the floor.

Time to crawl into bed.

 

V.

You know what? No, I’m not a size nuthin,

but I don’t have to eat my knuckles after eating

a sandwich.

Society cares too much about looks,

they should respect… my MIND.

I don’t care if I lose any more weight.

And if people don’t want to look at me–

fuck ’em.

I’m happy.

Yes.

And I won’t stop being happy, either.

 

VI.

Shit, son! Two pounds lost!

Damn, I can buy that new blouse,

but I’m going to need a new skirt, too…

A-Line. Or maybe dressy little peddle pushers and sandals.

Ooh… maybe some LINGERIE.

Hell, it’s got to be raining somewhere,

I wonder how much is in my savings account?

 

VII.

Hey, baby.

Yes, this is new lingerie.

No, I wasn’t expecting to keep it on for long.

Honey, can I be on top?

I hear it burns more calories.

 

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