YO! i’m a demi-brosexual cucc looking for a sugar daddy with a conscience cause my actual dad stopped Venmoing me rent. Got a pet anaconda (not sex pun). It’s egregiously overweight. Basically a circle. Think an imagistic depiction of self-abuse. Vet didn’t give her long. Loneliness is her name, climbing into my toilet and waiting to surprise me is her game. She’s a Democrat, but not a dick about it. And me too. i’m a slut for labia piercings and Gloria Steinem. Got gum recession and an alarming number of keys all of which i don’t remember receiving. Once ate a bug that i THOUGHT was dead. Now i think it lives in my left foot to dodge the IRS. Always wanted to scrape my palm against the hull of the cosmos and see what barnacle-shaped ghosts fall off. Refuse to lose a Friday, whether i’m scheduled or not. Saw my mom naked when i was 13 but that def won’t affect anything we do. Related: while i waited for them to pull the tubes out of my uncle, i wrote a poem in the corner under the heatless hearth of the respirator. Def a bummer, but again, shouldn’t be a problem. And a half-victory — gonna publish that poem on my Soundcloud so check that out when it drops. If i don’t find my true love soon i’m going to relapse, go back to the YouTube comments section and bait some trolls into harassing me, get me some of up that sweet negative attention. i quote tweet my cries for help because that gets a lot of. engagement. Man has always wept at the tyranny of flesh. He has always been confounded about how to make his meat-pouch move in the way that will make him most desirable to others. In my profile pics, i dug my Anastasia Beverly Hills Glow Kit Highlighter Palette (flex) into my corneas so deep they changed their name to coronas. Did that do anything for yah? My ultimate plea to you, future romantic prospect — please, baste me with your harmonious, well-adjusted, properly Klonopined serenity. i already know i need you. In return, think of what you could do with this unstuffed voodoo doll of a person. what you could MAKE of me. Make me do. If you’re into that. Pick me. Pick me off the proverbial shelf, the edge of the sidewalk. You’ll tell me you’ll always love me but when i say it back, i’m the one who will mean it. i may never blink. Like Death Cab for Cutie says, let’s go on and get lonesome with someone else together. Two human-shaped holes, two coincidences whose corporal alignment while spooning will be greatly exaggerated in our Facebook posts.
ps. Won’t be big spoon. Ever.
SHAMELESS SELF PROMO: if you liked what you’ve read thus far you can follow me on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, Reddit, Snapchat, 4chan, Instagram, Grinder, my Amazon Prime account, the notes app on my phone, my latent insecurities, as well as my dwindling faith in the artistic pursuit — its turkey-neck in the loving grip of one of Cthulhu’s great and terrible tentacles (may he forever reign).
Woody Woodger lives in Lenox, Massachusetts. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, from DIAGRAM, Drunk Monkeys, RFD, Exposition Review, peculiar, Prairie Margins, Rock and Sling, and Mass Poetry Festival, among others, and her poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net. Her first chapbook, “postcards from glasshouse drive” (Finishing Line Press) has been nominated for the 2018 Massachusetts Book Awards. In addition, Woodger served as Poet in Residence with the Here and Now in Pittsfield, MA. You can find her essays on Medium.com @rosebedwetters.