I’m reading “The People We Hate at the Wedding” by Grant Ginder … AND ITS A COLOSSAL WASTE OF TIME #booksImreading

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I’m reading

#ThePeopleWeHateattheWedding by #GrantGinder #booksImreading …try proofing for typos next time đŸ˜³

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I’m reading #AstrophysicsforPeopleinaHurry by @NeilTyson

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I’m reading “13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl” by Mona Awad @monaawad #13waysoflookingatafatgirl

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I’m reading “Final Girls” by Riley Sager #ILoveHorror

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I love a waist. 

“I love a waist!”, she gushed.

With joy, she blushed. 

A waist she waited for with baited breath 

Awaiting a bouquet trimmed with baby’s breath, 

to bring forth a baby from this tiny nest. 

Vive la jeunesse!

A waist defined between 

Him & Her 

Them & Us

Rich & Poor

(They aren’t us, believe it must)


Wasting away to make a waist

A waist that’s worthy

With worthy haste 

And in good taste 

To trod the pale ribbon to the sea. 

(Let’s walk the plank, bay-bee!)


Jack and Jill

Buck n Doe

His and Hears

Darlings, Deers

Queers and Steers

Hen’s night

Stag Knight

I hart you…


A wasted space 

Between thrill and taste 

Why bother, darlings

When imperfectly we trace, 

We love a waste!

Toward we raced this new world order.

Pas de la tristesse!


A waist as corporeal nirvana,

A wasted amandala.

A symbolic waist of spiteful taste.

How gauche,

How base. 

-An original #instapoem inspired by the wedding of Nell and Ted Wasserman in 2014 at Cap d’Antibes. 

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The Queen

The Queen regards the whole known world and never considers it ‘discovered’;

Her Majesty unfolds as silent as the dawn, blistering at the corners.


The Queen acknowledges your deepest truth. And does not press it to you.

Her Majesty contains a quiet wisdom and a wild patience. 


The Queen is still as gravestones. A nuclear winter gone to seed.

Her Majesty is wisdom, Ask at Delphi what you need.


The Queen abhors the flashy things. Her example is a diamond.

It blends and shapes within your eye. Her Majesty draws the honest lineman. 


The Queen takes joy in her own royal Person, though Her flesh barely covers.

Heart afire, Burning bone. Her Majesty is not a toy!


The Queen is strong like seasoned oak, the fresh cold wind does not bend her.

Hear her whistle through the trees, Her Majesty is behind it. 


The Queen is Spring reborn, Arising from the foam.

Under the downy covers, Her Majesty is feral.


The Queen conjugates the future hard; your trifles are such empty things.

She trusts her own raw judgements. Her Majesty is Kings. 

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