this is where mama gets angstier than the whiteboys. this is where mama shows the whiteboys that mama's got the angsts, too
there are bitches & they don't like mama
there are bitches & they are uni-sex & they don't like mama
this post is not about the bitches
this post is about how mama's found the answer to all unhappiness & her secret is so much better than The Secret & she has been all busybusy writing the book that will release all of mama's friends & foes from the existential crises, from samsara, from the earthys
this is bullshit, if you know mama... mama is still all existentialy mama wonders why she brought the chilluns into the world to deal with morality, too but mama's oldest knows how to make a mean manhattan & that just might be enough
at this point in her life
at this point in my life
mama's been listening to james blake which always reminds her of the one she would've settled with & given up the moonshine stills for but not the plans to be a drug-addled meemaw. mama's been listening to the james blake cos mama wants to turn hairshirt into mohair cardigan into cashmere into negligee into nothing...
mama is old but not old enough but too old & her sunglasses are crooked & she's done that paperclip thing with one of the arms & that trick is so 1980s punk rock or hughes movie or maybe it is a safety pin
teenmama used safety pins to slowly scrawl words into her arms. it was like cutting but not as dramatic or painful. it was a tedious pain & a tedious task. it was like life.
it was a lot like life.
oh, & in the long while since mama's been on the bloggy (not like being on the rag at all; all right, sometimes it is..): mama's collaborated on a book of poems called I HOPE YOU GET UGLY & DIE
this poem is part of the collab
mama's now working on a book of poems written to a famous someonesomeone
she's also working on her hater novel. her main character's not a hater but everyone thinks she is.
it's a lot like life.