I am a question that has nine parts.
I’m as fat as yo’ momma’s fat ass,
A basketball walking on toothpicks.
I have a productive uterus.
If I were bread, I’d be rising.
If fetuses were cash, I’d be rich.
My life’s no longer just about me.
I am super goddamn nauseous.
I have a one-way ticket to “mom.”
(I’m super fucking pregnant as shit).
