Decadent Bulimic by Sabine Dinnebeil
Decadent Bulimic
When you want to fuck me
I believe in God,
when you don’t,
I am an atheist.
The devil is celibate,
I could care less for his hands,
he takes over my body
and nails it to the crucifix: man.
Structure exists
to make
women feel guilty about eating lasagna.
My office chair
is too cold for my vagina,
though the patriarchy sells it
as a hand on my ass
during daylight.
Lounge in a bed made of pasta and screams,
my stomach is a bedspread for your penis.
Shun high boots
bras are too tight,
lose yourself
in my natural form
like a sperm colored kite.
I am a rebel
against the norm,
against restraint
and diet porn.
There is no Jesus
when you don’t call,
Allah is a fantasy
they sell to poor people at a Pakistani fruit stall.
But I want my cake
and eat it too.
Love me while I binge on
Burger King and juice.
Lick my rim
like an ice cream pint
Bang my gem
like you’re being electrocuted by moonlight.