Stomach the Thought

Hey friends! I wanted to share some of my poems here. Feel free to give feedback as they are always works in progress. This one is short, sweet and a little gross? Anyways here it is.

They say men love to hunt. He wanted to catch a tiger, turn her into a broken bug, keep her in a mason jar and watch her die on the mantel next to his favourite football game. 

I don’t know how I always get into these entrapping experiences where men who perceive me to be a manic pixie dream girl realize pixie gets cranky without food and depressed at night and she’s not as fun to play with. There’s maintenance no one wants to do, but all are surprised by her undoing. 

It’s a sick ritual of dewinging. A sawing off of sorts.

Only part of me will fit in his jar and it’s important I follow the rules. 

What delight you derive from my undoing! 

The juice left after you wring me out and inspect what’s left in the glass - you act like you’re disgusted but you will curl around it and drink down every drop when your friends aren’t looking

Are you embarrassed of your thirst for me?? 

Show me your teeth, show me the stain I left on your tongue

I want to know how long it takes to get me out of your mouth 

I see me all over you 

I was wondering where I went

You are having a field day with my ground bones powdered into a pea protein for your pre workout smoothie 

You know you lose some of the nutrients when you blend it? 

If you could stomach me you wouldn’t need a blender

Just your canines, maybe a dull blade

I hope it goes down smooth 

But ultimately

I know you’ll choke.