As the vultures cautiously defend their broken gift , a panic stricken ,  innocent creature lays mortally wounded , another tribute to suburban encroachment , killers quite fittingly cloaked in orange attire , warning the civilized world of their presence , roam unchecked throughout Georgia's woodlands .
Paper doll wannabe commandos , indignantly evoke prayer and 'god given rights' , esteem their kind as protectors of the environment . An obvious cover for blood thirst and killing instinct , blanketing raw , scheming , murderous culpabilities ..

Don’t you ******* dare
to romanticize me
Don’t act like my ribs poking through my skin
And wrists so frail I’m half-certain they’ll snap too
is beautiful
Because that’s exactly what you’re doing
through your glossy magazine pages
and water-and-kale only lunches
Making it seem glamorous
that I lay dying slowly at my own hands
Don’t paint over my
sallow complexion
And hair falling out in thick strands
As I tried to put up a ponytail
Here’s my thigh gap
(it’s writing my obituary)
but isn’t it just #goals
Don’t make me
the reason a twelve year old girl
is squeezing her tummy
I did not fall for that trap
But I’m in the same pit anyway
I am not a costume
Not the “**** anorexic”
Don’t tell me to learn to take a joke
Because it isn’t a joke
to make my best friend sick with worry
Because the pounds keep peeling off
I’ve felt sinking in my (empty) stomach
when friends ask me “how do you keep so thin?”
in pale green tones of envy
when their bodies are so full of life
and mine is withering
and I’m crying over a stupid ******* bowl of soup
that the same girl (but a different one)
would have drank in two minutes
soaking in the warmth in a full tummy
But that I heated in the microwave
three, four times,
forcing down spoonful by spoonful
just to have something in my stomach.
I just want to eat pancakes that don’t taste like dust
but all my meals are tainted with self hatred
and how ******* dare you
teach them that hatred
like it’s *pretty?