Andie Bottrell
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FAT: A Thought Process

3/21/2018

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there is a grace
that i extend to others
that i will not give to myself

tonight, in costume
ready for theatre, for slipping into
character when

that old brick wall
popped up
stared back at me in the mirror

holy fuck
is that me?
is that my belly?

not acceptable

when did you let it get like that?

oh, right
all those late and lonely nights
in bed with snacks--snacks because snacks
feel better than being alone with tears and screams

the inner work stacks up
and i've been too busy with the responsibilities of outer work
to do the kind of inner cleaning required for not leaning on food
to cope

well, so
i look at instagram
i follow a good grouping now

a diverse and positive
and perspective-offering group
and i see these curvy, belly-full women

and they are beautiful, still

and i look back at the mirror
and i am not, yet

i examine several angels
position my body in different ways
suck in, hold my breath

relax, watch it grow
i burst inside
i stare into my eyes

okay, maybe
beauty there
maybe 

i don't know...
and what exactly am i aiming for
with this specific set of beauty rules

i'm so quick to bemoan myself
for not following them
yet further investigation reveals

within them, perhaps i do not belong

they are not mine
they were pressed upon me
at birth

but they are not from ancestors
not from mother earth
not from spirit, soul, or gut

they are from green
from money, envy, greed
they are for purchases and

i am not a product
i am not a broken plastic thing
to fix

i am human
a human giving love and living
with bountiful worths and feeling

and that is enough

that is enough

that is enough

for fucks sake
that is enough

say it until your 
breath aches
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These Works of Love

3/20/2018

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You know that deep sadness
that sits like a perpetual swallow
in your throat?
 A mucus that coats your 
stomach lining, occassionally
surprising you with an outburst
of vomit?
  You know how you suppress it
under the pressure of intake while
holding in your breath?
    You know how your extremities tingle
and sometimes go numb in spots like an
awkward giraffe?

My Mom says I have a way with words
--she doesn't read much but mine suck her
right in
   She gets a stern look on her face that tells me
she really means for me to listen when she says
that I should write
      And so I write, for her...
and I make other art often for a "him" or a "she"
and I feel deeply, well, that's just for me

I create so much
people say it exhausts them just to watch

To me, it's like this:
A whirlwind of thought and hands, 
an unstoppable explosion of heart,
an in-containable a-bomb of needs,
and at the end of the day, Me:
Standing on this mountain of creative trash 
asking, "Is this enough?"

Is it enough for me to be okay?
For me to be worthy?
For you to love me?
Is it enough yet?

It's never enough

The lack of "enough"
and high probability,
after all these years of research,
that "enough" cannot be reached through
these means, does not stop or even slow me

In truth, it's a question I ask inward
as much as out
and sometimes, when asked inward,
"enough" is answered yes,
through tears of disappointment
and timid pride, enough,
and sometimes with an enthusiastic posturing,
enough!

I know better,
but this old habit remains,
that I can earn your love through
actions--when, in truth, those who are worthy
of my love already love me, 
and those who are not, who cannot, who will not,
will never know me as I am, no matter how 
active or patient or persistent 
I am at making all these little piles,
these works of love
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    About

    Hey! I'm Andie Bottrell, a multidisciplinary creative living in Springfield, MO. I share stories (autobiographical and fictional), poems, and other creative or personal musings here. 

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