SYLVIA PLATH MADE ME DO IT: A story in verse

Sample poems from the book can be found here:

Pink Cotton Candy

Debbie's Canzone

Contemplations

At the Pool After Closing Hours

DEBBIE’S CANZONE
taken from Sylvia Plath Made Me Do It

So what? It’s not my fault that I’m fat,
isn’t it? So what if I loved sweets
and a nightly habit for taking low-fat
yogurt out of my mom’s huge fat
Frigidaire around midnight? Oh no,
it’s not a compulsion. It’s just that
I was born fat, and stayed fat
instead of getting a Raquel Welch-perfect
figure. Oh, that would’ve been perfect
but I’m not Richard Simmons, who used to be fat.
I would’ve given anything for a pencil-thin
body, instead of cellulite bloating within.

Oh, you can bet I dream of being thin
every night: the day I will finally shed fat
like a beauty queen proud of her thin
and tender limbs, and her not-so-thin
bosom’s profile. At least I have a sweet
personality, but that’s why some thin
guys talk to me after hurting within
from some model’s rebuff. No,
I never make a pass, because I know
they’ll feel lonely enough to pretend I’m thin
like her. You think I feel perfect
in such moments? No! I feel gross, imperfect!

I close my eyes while his perfect
rhythm pretends I’m only barely thin.
But I know better. I’m grossly imperfect,
more than you’d imagine. Defects:
my body is a blimp of fat.
When I groan, I shake like a perfect
square of gelatin perfected
in the fridge, even if he’s been sweet
enough to stick it in. So why do I stay sweet?
You wanna know why I’m such a perfect
friend? I’m lonely, goddammit! Yes. You know
only cellulite can give sweat a weird glow.

Don’t tell me you didn’t know
all this. You’ve already perfected
the art of acting as if you didn’t know
how my belly blob drops below
where you usually check out in thin
girls. Don’t turn away from me. Oh, no.
You listen to me. Yes? I know
you don’t want to hear a smelly fat
girl rant on about the joys of fat
because there aren’t any. You know
all those fat girl jokes? Huh? I’m sweet
enough to beg for another sweet.

Look. You want more?

Well: he was sweet,
at least, to stay a little longer, no
more than half an hour. I jam sweets
into my octopus mouth as that sweet
nausea overtake with perfect
timing. I find myself sweetened
with dreams of eating every single sweet
in the world and staying thin
like all those girls on TV. I’m thin,
I’m blonde, I’m now a blue-eyed sweet
country gal! Tonight I will chase all my fat
dreams with my spoon of yogurt. Okay. I’m fat.

So? Big f**king-A deal. Hey, I’m fat
to you, but oh, no. I’m sweet
enough not to say that much: Oh, no,
don’t you ever tell me nobody’s perfect.
So what if I don’t wanna be thin?

NEXT POEM