A Letter to My Other Mother

I will not be turning 50 this January,
And there is nothing you, or Father Time can do
To make me.
I will stop having birthdays and parties that
Celebrate yet another year to the tune of
“Happy Birthday to You."
I’ll no longer acknowledge the lines that are being
Added to my face like a child’s drawing of an
Oak tree.
I will use "push up" push up bras to combat
The sagging egos of Lily and Lilibet.
Hopping up and down, I will shove myself
Into those Spanx underwear that leave me with
No room to exhale, let alone inhale the truth that
I’m fat enough to need them.
The only thing I will allow you to take from me is
Old Aunt Flo, since you can never count on her
To be there when you need her,
And she always shows up at the most inappropriate times.

As for my hair, I will just keep coloring it
To Loreal Essence #18—Mahogany Brown.
I will draw in more eyebrows
As time begins to pluck them out
One by one.
No longer will you control my moods or
Entice people into thinking I'm nuts
With all my hot flashes.
I shall dispose of your evidence by swirling it down the
Drain every time "Calgon takes me away."
Instead, I will cast you onto some unsuspecting wisp of a girl who
Passes by, her blonde hair blowing about in the wind,
Pink pouty lips, and showing more cleavage then the
Grand Canyon.
With a graze of my hand, I will pass you
Onto her and laugh to myself,
"Take that you pretty little thing,"
Like the Wicked Witch of the West,
Watching out for bottles of water
From each and every direction.

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