If I Were a Poet-Tree, I’d be a Weeping Willow

Sister said,

“You’re nothing but a man-eater”

and I chewed on that

long and hard

cause diets

are a girl’s best friend

and my secret to satiation is that

I’m always consuming

being eaten

alive.

Ingredients for how to start me simmering?

Shit,

I like grammar rules

and long division

so boy

put your

eyes

before

ease

except after

see

all

you’re looking for is someone

To fill the intercostal voids

where women were made from

RIBBED

meat

FOR YOUR PLEASURE

modern-day romance

is all but dead

so sorry to snitch

on this sad

situation

snatch

what’s being sought

with a loosening of these laurels

while we debase our morals

together

we’re a train wreck

on a fast feeding frenzy

combating alone time with

addictions

your attention

is 80 proof

positive

that I’m better off

alone

I’m a woman

of dark hair

pale skin

colored

in the lines

So that puts me on the edge of VANITY

FAIR

to say if this were a string

I’d be dangling

on the precipice of your vowels

at the peak of your syllables

It’s an I

and a U

and a sometimes

why

questions seem concerning to me

so I think I’ll raise my voice

An octave above objectification

hum these chords

through the phone cord

through the dime store

through the point where

what matters most is knowing

time is temporary

and I put a memory of you on my wrist

watch

the minutes tick into hours

these second hands sound silly

but for every sixty

I’m settling

my stomach

ache

it was great

but I’m full on

frontal

and I’m French

so

j’ai faim

I.

have.

hunger.

For the human nature necessities

to

eat

drink

man

woman

It’s the BOOK OF RITES

my right

to consume

and assume

You,

Sister,

presumed

wrong