Nothing you could say could tear me away from my guy,
Nothing you could do 'cause I'm stuck like glue to my guy.
I'm sticking to my guy like a stamp to a letter,
(rot to a banana) we stick together,
I'm tellin' you from the start I can't be torn apart from my guy.
"Nothing you could
say could tear me away from my guy....."
love having O! I get to blame O for EVERYTHING! He's responsible for my short temper. My fat body. He's responsible
for my gray hair. Any time I cough, I think "ah-oh. impaired immune system. O's at it again."
Argue with my husband? My teenaged children? O's fault.
Can't sleep? Drink a wee bit too much wine? O. Of course
you could do 'cause I'm stuck like glue to my guy...."
cackles. Screams. Drums his impatience and menace inside of me. Really. He leers and gloats. "Think
you got away from me, do you honey? Really?"
spits. Sweats, too.
He works out. Rarely sleeps.
"I'm sticking to my guy like
a stamp to a letter...."
O's in good "Kim shape."
He dresses in Richard Simmon's 1980s preferred workout atire: short shorts and tank top.
"Why," I ask myself, "did I allow him to bring all of those
free weights?" He's got them set up in my backside. There's a lot of space there.
My "muscle bound man" is in better "Kim" shape than I am. But
I at least get to blame him for my belly, bunions and jiggly backside. I think my belly's his favorite place. "I'm
hungry" he whines as he reclines there in his tight shorts and tank top. "Feed me."
No "handsome face"
can ever take the place of my guy...."
O likes to scoot on up to my mind
too. He gets a "good workout" inside of me and so--because he's well fed--he ascends with ease. Just
swings from blood vessel to vein. Does lung lunges, as he mounts a lung. "One! And two three, four!" The exertion
makes him breathless. I too feel a shortness of breath as he stomps my breathing apparatus.
O lugs himself up through my throat and with one hand sometimes hangs for
just a moment from my uvula and taunts me. Thumbing his nose at me, he wiggles his fingers, with the other hand. "Na-na-na-na-boo-boo....
Just you try and spit me out! Ha!"
it's nasty in here!" as he tip toes through the wax of my eustachian tube. "CLEAN UP THIS F@#KING MESS!"
If you've followed A Piece Full
World the last seven years, you know that I tried to keep O out. I thought then that putting my words and experience
outside of me would keep him out too. And so I wrote. And I wrote. And wrote, wrote, wrote.
"Like birds of a feather, we stick together..."
I remember then my fingers jabbing the key pad as another one of his bullied
educators contacted me. And then others from all over the nation. Educators needing. Needing help, solace
"Like birds of a feather, they stick together...."
My guy is not unique. My guy is
just another sociopathic principal who coercively controls others. A mean guy is my guy. A nasty, self serving, dangerous,
dull guy--one of so many.
But this guy, you best be believin'
I won't be deceivin' is My Guy.