The Maenad

Banal, this beauty is bleeding

TW: death, dying
CW: death, dying, aging, cancer

Savaged by savage time
Ravaging my eyes with lines
that count time like Rings
measuring a Tall tree’s life.
My body is slowly disintegrating
It’s borderlands and curves already hinterlands
Cold and desolate valleys where none shall journey
Creaking bones turning to powder and gum
Skin, cracked, and drying out, mummification
Lips, sores, gums receding
Seems time and space retreating
Doom has you kneeling
All shall heel the endless wheel Time
Empty ghosts inhabit these bones
Flesh cringes at the thought and
Memories of past touch and past healing
This Time is slowly taking Me to pieces
How can I Be at peace With this
Inevitable end unbearable
mind Half risen from divine brine
Dipped in mortal slime
The slime is time, It eats all sides
Slow or rapid, Fast decline
Look into my eyes, see past the lines and their lies
Don’t mind the bags, just moisture that sags
I know drink some water, okay?
Lying lines of moisture misery, misting
Don’t be absurd child.
Beauty fades. Power is forever.
Ambitions are laid bare
Sitting in my underwear
Skin peels, bone flakes, insufferably beautiful this decay, this face
I … don’t know where good girls go.
But I’ll see the rest of you in hell.

Princess Gwen, Shameless Fat Cow of the Fat Rat Patrol

TW: Animal comparison, fatphobic language, implied Domination, graphic Sex
CW: Fatphobia, implied death, sex, sex work

My body is, delight, a forbidden country.
I am queer, transgender,
a women. More important,
than any of these outlaw, blacklisted,
mostly under advertised qualities,
I am FAT.
I am fat, I am here, and I do not care.
I will take up sufficient space Anywhere.
I deserve to Be and have the right
Cross the line and I will obtain my full satisfaction when I
Verbally, mentally, and emotionally, take it out of your hide
With my quick wit, razor tongue, and foul dirty filthy mind
Should you cross, incur, or disrespect me or mine.
I fought so hard to own this body and now
That I have total control and total care,
I do not have or entertain spatial, universal time
Or fleshly, thinky space to explain,
Why your bullshit about fat people has no place
In my mental or physical spaces
I control, will patrol these borders – my law I will maintain
Behold my naked fat, my totally exposed tits.
You can’t see my ribs, even if I’m bouncing up and down like this.
Even on cam or in your face
My tummy is fat it hangs down and takes up extra space.
When I’m down on all fours like now, I
have a stomach that drags like actual damn cow.
Moo. Stare at me whatever. I’d like to see you do better.
IT’s something else, the thing
That you can’t conceive is that I love being me.
I love my tummy and tits and big wide ass
Either of which I could, would maybe smother and kill you with.
The cow is a spider, her venomous milk attracts tricks like dogs draw fleas
Venom in her milk
Long skinny legs and big cow gut this fat assed tranny chick is going to fuck you right up
Your girl, your boy, your old lady,
the guy you fuck but kind of want to bail on ,
They are all everywhere up in this cow
Round, she waddles, soft and unstoppable.
Lift my udders and cream my tummy, let it drip down, butter my rolls,
Carry over,
I increase as you descend.

Collect Call from A Certain Death, you Will Accept the Charges

TW: homophobic language, death, AIDS epidemic,

CW death, cancer, classism, contemplating one’s own absence, institutional Homophobia, homophobia, transphobia, hate, classism, poverty, death, AIDS, the holocaust

I am a woman, but soon I will be just another
Dead fag
Like Lovecraftian space aliens on rubbery fungoid
Wings from the sky, we revert to our
True forms when we die
Because all queer people born after 1969
Become instant dead faggots when they die
I don’t lie.
Spontaneous blasts of red tape and crying
And then POOF
There, it is there, that the dead faggot lies
Can’t complain any more, or get high
Can’t wonder why no one fucks her more
Can’t puzzle through another weird human norm
Just lay there, waiting for the oven to warm
Dead faggots go in ovens, unless in life
They were white upper or middle class
Actually fags
The kind that own land
Then, when they die, not much changes as
You would surmise but instead they get carted to their land and thrown inside.
Plots of land are for those with status, money, and Maserati driving things
Tick tock, still a lady but soon the thugs who collect
Dead faggots and chuck them in ovens
Will be coming
They will be soon