Helpless, blank-eyed, bendable little rag doll,
That’s all I was to you.
A young girl playing psychiatrist to your unholy host of demons and monsters.
Alice, I was, looking into the rabbit-hole and diving in headfirst,
Not filled with curiosity but with the childish notion that I was different for you
Such a strong, naïve belief that I could carry your weight while I gracefully, angelically flew.
The sun would not scorch my ethereal wings and send us both plunging into the frothy waves;
My pearlescent transportation would cause us both to rise, steadfast and true,
Until we were welcomed into the forgiving comforts of a nearby cumulus.
But I morphed quickly from Alice to Persephone, bound beneath the earth in a
Granite, unyielding throne by your hellish side
Ensnared by the promise of a happy life and blissful love.
Eventually, I needed no Cerberus to stand snarling, scowling at the mouth of Hell
In the end, I chose to remain.

The words
“Bring to a slow simmer” mean nothing to me
I am incapable of doing so
My eyes skim over that part of the recipe, going instead straight for the part where the oven turns on
And the food is reduced to a roiling, churning, unrecognizable mass
For me, there is no such thing as a gauzy, languid sunset or the sluggish, sleepy way
That anger can sometimes pool up inside you.
For me, a volcano has no warning or gradual burning of magma.
For me, it is just the present of the explosion,
Ripping, tearing, gushing, seething unceasingly
Jealousy and rage are not timid housecats, avoiding company and remaining invisible within the blackness of a room until a pale shred of light cuts through, reflecting a circular sheen.
Instead they are cantankerous sabertooth tigers.
And I can’t keep myself from setting them free.