So what I gained some weight.
These hoes trying to make America great again, somehow made me fat again. But how did I let them set me up?
Saying yes to everything, by binging on an Eat, Pray, Love philosophy left little room for exercise. Also, making every night a movie night—the perils of falling in love.
But the side effects of great sex didn’t curb any cravings.
He follows up with desserts. I’m not into cream pies. The clean up afterward, the process of shitting out the remnants, and another shower is in order. And while he rests, I stress and cleanse myself of my salacious appetite. I consume every concoction no matter the cost.
Let’s make a toast to the things that keep me up at night. I drift away in the dark, snoring to the sounds of the air conditioner. My family teases me, claiming I have sleep apnea. Still, I don’t need a diagnosis by a non-doctor.
I can’t be off coke and about to choke.
Watching reruns of Drop Dead Diva had me thinking even though I packed on the pounds, I felt skinny inside. I still have a man that loves me. Even if I felt confident in sweats.
Thoughts turn to reconnecting with old high school friends who noticed the spread of my thighs. But I’m the same person. I could drop the weight quick if I picked up a cocaine and cigarette habit.
But I love myself too much to revert back to that superficial lifestyle. Who cares what losers from high school think?
What do you think about fat shaming in the gay community?