To Friend

I will always be second best, won’t I?
If Jesus played favorites with Peter, then I am the tax collector (no one loves a tax collector). If Pete Davidson loves Ariana Grande, then I am the weed and alcohol left behind—his first love he cast away. I am Melania, because Donald Trump only loves himself.
I wait in my little hole in the ground
To see what you will feed me,
If I will get meat and potatoes today
Or the same shaved chicken breast that’s
Sat in the fridge day after day.
And I wait, mouth agape, hoping you

Will feed me
Touch me
Kiss me
Or refrain from choking me
Because I’m already down.

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Ode to an Ass

I walk up the street
to meet you–you talk
to your friends about unimportant things
like the grapes you ate that had soured in your mouth
or the other women you’ve fooled
into thinking they had bad communication skills
when really they had bad taste in men.

Paul Ryan isn’t running for re-election (The Paul Ryan Diaries)

Note: This is an update to the Paul Ryan Diaries I started last year. It is long overdue, and I’m sorry. The narrator in no way expresses all my opinions but is a character based off of me. This is entirely fictional.

April 11th, 2018

Well, dear diary. We meet again. You have been my confidant but my enemy. I have no idea why I am even writing. Except there has been a lot of shit going on.

  1. I have two fucking one-year-olds. They want to cry all the time. I don’t know if I mentioned it, but my daughter’s name is Michelle. Paul got mad because he has a tiff with Michelle Obama. He says it’s because she married Obama, who is apparently a Muslim according to Republicans. I don’t think that’s the reason. I snooped in his phone, and he texted Schumer that he thought she looked glorious in her pregnancy photos. Don’t tell him I know that.
  2. I am graduating from college soon. At the age of 23. And my only object is to be the trashy Plainfield girlfriend who looks after the kids. I do love my children. Tucker is as mopey as Michelle.
  3. Paul is not running for re-election.

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He said it. He consulted me. I think it’s pretty clear what has happened. The Prez looks as guilty as Mark Zuckerburg during the confessional hearings. Ha! As if Teddie Cruz is a priest. I miss making fun of Ted. The only thing he’s done worthwhile is like a porn tweet. 😦 I expected more (porn) from you, Ted. I expected more.

When the Speaker got home, we played a nice game of Twister, if you get my jist. 😉 Guess that’s not very subtle. We did it. I did it with my boyfriend. It was very good. I am a sex goddess. He told me so. He was in a great mood after announcing his retirement. He danced when he saw me.

He said, “Chloe. You are beautiful. Will you do me the honor…”

Here I froze. He wasn’t going to propose naked, was he? On the other hand, I quite liked the scene where Pierce Brosnan showers Halle Berry in diamonds while in a devilish position.

“…of having another baby with me?”

I could not find words. I was very disappointed that he did not want to marry me. In truth, I had already started a Pinterest board of wedding ideas. Kim Kardashian and Jane Fonda were invited. Kanye could fuck himself. I do not forgive him for the Taylor Swift incident.

“Paul,” I finally said. “Are you of this planet? I just gave birth–we both gave birth–a year ago. We got two freakin’ kids. The only way I pacify them is by shoving iPads down their throats and threatening them with Catholic school. Not like they understand, but it soothes me.”

“But you know I want a big family.”

“What, you want a repeat of the Duggars? You know how that shit ended. I am keeping my little friend, Miss IUD,” I concluded.

“Don’t I get to play a part in this?”

“You know how you compared fetuses to beans? Well, I like beans. In moderation. But there is a reason edamame is not as popular as wine and chocolate.”

“I consider children more like green beans,” he admitted.

“Do they have the bacon and grease in them?”

“No. I only have 6%-8% body fat, and I don’t want to lose my figure.”

“Then no children. There aren’t enough pots to cook them in,” I said.

“How many pots do we need??”

“MORE THAN TWO POTS, PAUL RYAN!”

And then we went to bed. Well, I went on the sofa. Paul still has nightmares about Putin. Something about how he’s stealing all his stilettos and he has nothing to wear to the Zombie-themed prom.

Slopes

It seems like a year since I fell in love with a girl
And broke up with her
All in one day.
It seems a year since I opened myself up to new opportunities,
Possibilities
With a person of the same gender.
But that’s all gone now.

It dawned on me that I would have to be
Touched, that I would have to be open to feeling her pulsating beneath me. That I would have to love the clitoris, the breasts…especially the sloping sides of her.
I could love the slopes, the curves, the cheekbones and the eyes.
I could love lips and hair. But could I love beyond the slopes, down there?

A real man

You know what I want? I want a real man. A man’s man. A godly man, sculpted from clay, molded, shaped. I don’t want a skinny thing who smokes in the bathroom or a fucktard who has to get high to watch a movie with me. I want someone to carry me over the threshold. Someone to build a snowman with, who’ll help me practice my lines. I need a man who needs cold showers when he’s around me. Someone that desires me as much as I desire him. Someone who will put his unshaven face close to mine and breathe me in. I don’t need a mess of a boy trying to find himself. I’ve already found myself, and it wouldn’t be a fair race. No, I’m done with boys. They think a girl has all the time in the world, that she’ll be there waiting for them when they get off their asses. I can’t wait anymore. Do you know how old I am? Too old to be dealing with bullshit. I want someone who’ll call me first, who’ll deal with my mother. I want a guy who could beat someone within an inch of their life if they tried to touch me. That sounds extreme, but I’m done caring. You don’t waste time with boys anymore. They hurt you, they beat you, they take all your feelings and they chew them up and spit them out. Don’t waste your time with bad people.

Monsters

Hate me. Banish me. But never say that you don’t know me.

I am the person from birth that you never unveiled.

 

Do not say that I have never loved you.

I have loved none but you,

 

or tried to love none but you. It was not me

who betrayed you. It was the child inside

 

who must go away not to hurt you.             The hurt is seeping from fingertips,

breaking up small food in stomach.

 

Believe me, I’ve not become me yet. I’m trying

to, but

 

you are here with my replacement, another girl like me.

What does it matter that no one can see my monsters but me.

 

There is nothing about them that speaks.

Nothing says joy, but it is pulsing chinks.

 

Put yourself in a blue box. Say nothing. Say nothing to your monsters.

Ship yourself away. There is nothing outside the blue box.

Must-Have’s on a Human Male’s Dating Profile

This is a list of all the things men simply must put on their dating profiles. On a serious note, I really don’t know how they think these things work.

1. The dog photo


There’s always fucking dog photo. The human male wants to control us with our hormones and our love for puppies. It is his way of saying, “Yes, I’m caring and compassionate, look at how much I love dogs.”
2. The baby photo

The classic baby photo. Again, the male is trying to lure us in through supposed maternal feelings. Ha. As if we have them. We’re not here on Tinder to have babies. We’re here to make babies… but with condoms on.

3. The shirtless pic


This one is the worst. A hot bod… is a hot bod. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to grill some bacon on that thing ^^

4. The fish photo 


The male mind is obsessed with fish. I don’t know what it is. Is it the thrill of the catch? Do the gills sparkle like diamonds? Why do men think we care about fish? I’m glad it’s their favorite sport, but the only fish I want to see is on my plate.

5. The one where we don’t know who you are


Where you at, bro?

To love

He tried hard to forget. To love is to destroy. But he could not but think he’d rather fade into the earth than give up his love, it was so fresh in the ground. It niched itself in the dirt, the pressing of moss and mold inside the root cellar, where his love grew further, twisting into bricks, into an obsequious display that poisoned him to the touch. Everyone knows what it is to hold something closely and have it bite you.

Better luck next time

Note: this is political satire. paul ryan is, sadly, not cheating on his wife with me.

March 26th

9am

So I’m watching TV in my cute little pajamas, eating ice cream with rum (sorry, mom) and some good ol’ Fox television when some orange bimbo comes on and says that the repeal of Obamacare failed because of Paul!

“Paul Ryan needs to step down as speaker of the House,” Pirro said. “The reason? He failed to deliver the votes on his health care bill. The one trumpeted to repeal and replace Obamacare. The one that he had seven years to work on. The one he hid under lock and key in the basement of Congress. The one that had to be pulled to prevent the embarrassment of not having enough votes to pass.”

Well, you know what, Ms. Pirro? Paul Ryan is an excellent speaker of the House! The reason? He’s a good man and an even better lover. Yes, Obamacare is terrible because it actually helps many people around the United States. Yes, no one should experience that much freedom or get coverage despite previous conditions. No one should feel safe in America. And Paul knows that. So it takes more than 7 years? So what. It took me 22 years to find Paul.

11am

Speaking of freedom, I have nothing to do. I’m terribly lonely. I went to the store one day to buy some chocolate and get some baby food, and I found myself talking to the store clerk for 15 minutes. Paul is rarely home now that Donald is finally being presidential. His wife is supposed to sign the divorce papers soon, though.