THIN AGAIN © 2010  Barbara Meyers

My skirt is too tight, oh what have I done?
That party last night I shouldn’t have gone.

Or if I went I shouldn’t have eaten
Those dieting rules?  They’ve all been beaten.

The waistline I discovered just recently
Is now disguised indecently

By a layer of flab around my middle
All right, okay, just one more Skittle.

Is that a Hershey’s chocolate bar?
I’ll have one little bite on the way to my car.

Is the lunch special once again fried chicken?
If I eat salad with it surely I won’t thicken.

It’s been a hard day what if for ice cream I stop?

Will eating the children’s size make my buttons pop?

While I watch TV I consume popcorn with butter.
Tomorrow morning I’m afraid my scale might shudder.

At midnight I wait for the microwave to beep
I shouldn’t be eating, why am I not asleep?

I was but then I woke and thought, “I need a snack.”
If you saw what I’m nuking you’d give me a smack.

I’ll have Diet Coke with it there’s no calories in that

At least there’s one thing in life that won’t make me fat.

Tomorrow I’ll walk to the bus that will be good exercise
Though I’ll be out of breath and one might surmise

Since my thighs rub together and I take up more than one seat
The bottom of my top and my belt never meet.

Good thing I brought along a low-cal granola bar
It’s a small one though and won’t go very far

I could get some low-fat yogurt and a piece of fruit
Maybe a healthy drink made with celery root.

Breakfast may be the most important meal of the day
But I wish I had bacon and home fries anyway.

These nuts and twigs and bits of seed
Are for the birds and I have no need

Of the extra fiber they provide
Lest I become hooked and begin to slide

Into a smaller size, what then?
Is it possible I might become thin again?

DESTINY ©2010  Barbara Meyers

Come now friends and lend me your ear
I’ll tell you about my writing “career”

I put that in quotes because it’s not really true
And the fact that it isn’t, that makes me blue

I started to write after a particularly bad read
That’s really the incident that planted the seed

I can write a book better than that I swore
I was certain of this deep down in my core

I started in longhand and that went quite slow
When my computer arrived I started to glow

The ideas came, from the keyboard they flew
I finished one story and started anew

I wrote and I wrote and I didn’t much care
Why they got turned down but I didn’t dare

Stop writing because it’s what I had to do
So what if the experts tore it in two

After a few years I had lots of paper around
I’d sold not a word nor had I run aground

When editors laughed and agents rejected
With more determination I became injected

I’ll show you I thought to myself
I’ll publish these manuscripts now on the shelf

A short story here, an article there
Yes I can write with obvious flair

Then came a contract, and then another
When I saw the print version, my heart went a flutter

Then came a dry spell that lasted awhile
All of my stories just sat in a pile

I kept on writing knowing something would sell
Then along came e-pubs, does that ring a bell?

My editor loved it, would buy it, she said
But I don’t let compliments go to my head

First it was an e-book then in print it appeared
I was elated, my friends simply cheered

I’ve had some more rejections since then
I can’t get it right, I’m frustrated again

I won’t give up, I refuse to back down
Or go away without making a sound

I might be at the bottom, my foot slammed in the door
But starving artists don’t consider themselves poor

Persistence, persistence is the name of the game
If I give up now, I’ll have myself to blame

I’ve spent too many years, worked too hard at this
I’ll make it some day, I know I won’t miss

This is the lesson you can take from me
Your detractors will tell you to let it be

If you let them they will pull you down
You’ll end up being the saddest clown

Ignore what they say, don’t let them in
Own your own destiny, that’s how you win.

PITCH ©2010  Barbara Meyers

I’m at a conference and ready to pitch.
I’m nervous with sweat and I’ve started to itch.

I’ve practiced and practiced and practiced my query.
But I had no idea it would still be so scary.

There’s only one editor and one agent here.
Maybe I’ll skip it and go have a beer.

Uh-oh, oh, no, they’ve just called my name.
If they reject me now it’s just more of the same.

Been there done that so many times.
Maybe that’s why I write silly rhymes.

If they think that my chapters are nothing but trash
I’m pretty sure I’ll break out in a rash.

Will they point at all that I’ve done wrong?
I sure hope they don’t play that tired song.

It’s not unique, it’s already been done.
Why not make her a vampire? That’s always fun.

Or a ghost or a fairy or a demon or two?
If you work on that we might look at you.

This love story is ever so yesterday.
Why not make your characters gay?

No, no I say before I storm out,
That isn’t what my story’s about.

Why can’t you see my heart’s hanging here?
Don’t you know that I live in fear?

I’ll never get published, I’ll never get there.
For years I’ve said it just isn’t fair.

I trust in my talent who must I convince?
Each time you say no I can’t help but wince.

So now it’s back to the drawing board.
Because I really can not afford

Not to write from that place I know well.
And trust one day soon I’m going to sell.

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