They gotta eat
Too
The swine
To feed us
Chops and bacon
They don’t discriminate
Or complain
If I feed them
Dirt
***** pieces
Of trash
As long as I grind it
Good
And I do
I treat them
Proper
Before
Slicing and dicing
And feeding them
To the animals
And thus
later
To you

I never liked silence
In my family we talk
A lot
About nothing
We talk non stop
Unless
Something serious
Comes up
Then
There's silence
Like a useless spell
Against truth

Perhaps it is here
In the blank
uncertain

space
between the lines

perhaps
we will find
that
which we do not agree on
but also that
for which we long
so much

perhaps it is here
somewhere

Nausea
Is silent
expectation
and silent
treatment
when not
met

Refrigerator magnets
Will tell
kitchen table truths
About family
And blood
And how it will stick
Forever
No matter what
To kitchen table believers

I see her picturing me
Perfect
In her image
A perfect lacquered surface
Fitting into  
Her polished plastic ideals
But as I rise
The surface breaks
Into an ugly ripple
And her image
Is cracked
Beyond repair

I never could do anything
Right
Although I was good
I was
always one step
Away from perfection
Always a pound too heavy
Or a pimple to many
From beauty
In my mum’s eyes

And now I won’t
try
Because I can
Choose not to
Try to live up to
My mum’s sense
Of perfection
And I do
I actually feel
Rather perfect
As I am