The Mourner's Tear

She's obese.

That's
putting it kindly.

Others would call her
monstrously overweight,
larger than life,
too fat for a trailer-size coffin.

When she walks
she creates
craters.

When she sits
she throws the earth
slightly
off its axis.

There's more.

She's unattractive.

Her hair is unkempt,
her teeth are rotted,
her voice,
her sight,
her smell,
all beyond hideous.

Nobody
wants to help
her.

They can't even look her
in the eyes.

As soon as she's gone,
they say the most vile things
anyone could ever say
to another human being.

They might as well
spit shit
in her face.

I feel sorry for her.

I imagine
what she goes through
everyday?

I force myself to take a walk in her shoes.

Facing myself
in the mirror
and I ask,
how do you feel?

I've finally discovered
just how cruel and bitter
the world can be.

There's no compassion
from a single person.

Why?

Has she thrown bleach in your mouth?

Has she ruined your precious popularity?

She has done nothing
besides
eat horribly unhealthy.

This is the treatment
she deserves?

Punishment
is coming to you all.

One day,
the bow of karma
will bend
and you will suffer
the same fate
as she has.

You will be obese.

Your eyelids will be fat.

Your hair will drip with lard.

You will suffer.

And you will die
from a massive heart attack
or better yet,
from choking
on a spork.

You must have thought
it was part
of your lunch.

And when you die,
the mortician
will have to
chop you up,
in order for you
to fit
in your trailer-size casket.

The mourners,
if there's any,
will have one last good laugh
at your gross face,
shedding only one tear
of joy,
before they bury
you
in frosting.

You final request
granted.

May you rest in chunks.