Photo by Dmitry Ratsuhny on Unsplash
I scour the kitchen for something to devour.
under the cover of night, I hope I find something
to satisfy the beast in my belly;
always yelling, forever hungry.
I wonder how long it’ll take for
this hunger to make a meal out of me,
a walking delicacy.
maybe, if I become skin and bone, it will leave me alone.
but I continue to search
for something to quench this thirst,
to satiate this ache in the endless pit
of my stomach where my heart sunk
and has yet to climb back up.
so, I consume everything in my path
and wonder if it will ever be enough for you.
wonder what I ever did to incur this wrath.
if you will ever surrender my heart
held captive in your greedy hands.
maybe, if I starve it, you will discard it.
or maybe, it will be slim enough
to slip through your fingertips and run.
I shut the pantry door and retreat.
you won’t make a meal out of me.
A poem from my newest collection, The Art of Starving, available now on Amazon.
Check it out here.
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