Goodbye six pack - Hello Love Handle

alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin 

*          *          *          *          *                                     
aye dread getting undressing
   and getting washed    even without spectacles
   that haint no mo' six pack abwhich nearly rock ribbed
   mid equatorial zone shape shifted    into corpuscular blubbery    ancillary physiognomy
   where aye wanna bab bull post traumatic stressed out
   middle age battle of the bulge. *          *          *          *          *                                      sea son sponged squarely equatorial adipose tissue
   requiring mister crabto clamp down with pincers
   viz primitive liposuction    whence rustling scupper    will efface this trireme    where three ply    tread fully and tirelessly dabbull to ameliorate    rolls of extra flesh alien    to what stacked
   as an athletic sculpted body. *          *          *          *          *                                       now no prolong inhalation
   get iron out flabthus tis part
   and parcel of senescence,    yet auxiliary buttressed dermis    effect forming gorged girth
   giving "love handles" grabreigniting reign of prepubescent anorexia nervosa,    boot now wen frankly
   zaps distorted self image.  *          *          *          *          *                                        evoked holocaust repugnant
   rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self loathing
   entice me to become a labbore a tory guinea pig to restore    prime of life when five foot ten
   alignment could nabfirst place in a slick couture magazine    from the neck down
   taut torso bearing    fashion model and
   teen idol where tab. *          *          *          *          *                                     to stand stock still until shutterfly
   would snapchat    rippled tummy, could
   fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cashnow, aye haint so gorge ass,
   what with     faux pregnant protuberance,
   though thankfully    derriere still rather dashing, which palm pilot sized buttocks
   doth newt offset.  *          *          *          *          *                                         lost battle of the bulge,
   where diet tribes furloughed in a flashabandoning their respective stations,    gnome hatter sinusoidal
   parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnashmy toothless mouth for lack of means    to stave of the depredations    of a slump pin proletariat
   allowing me a hash. *          *          *          *          *                                      tag with hefty weight, acquiescing    this pillsbury doughboy blivet    to subject himself to the sharp
   stings of a cool whip lashbearing the snap against raw skin as due process    and supplication for atlas shrug
ging his shoulders
   at the fountain head naming me mashshew scott in regard to oblate inflation.  *          *          *          *          *                                         inflation around midsection, and
   how ma late mum    (an avid fan of doctor carleton fredericks,
   who preceded mehmet oz), would quashthe love she showered on this sole heir -    resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
   even ear rashshun null gambits,    and as ast ditch effort    putting this offspring  
   on par with an albatross -
   vamose get out with the trash!


This poem is about: 
My family


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