Pizza is my life I started out as dough with doughy eyes Mother picks me up Mother molds me After no time at all I'm sent down the line Toppings... Things other people want but I get By the end the toppings are as important as the dough Sometimes I wonder if there was any dough to begin with Because the foundation is changed so much by the fires of the oven The chaos makes me steam, bubble, and boil Once I simmer down I'm recognizable as what I should be but not what I once was Now that I'm developed it's time to be delivered into the world And find my own home But what will I find when I get there? Will it be love? Or will I be ate up and shat out? Or is there a difference?
Can be found in my self published poetry book βIcyβ. https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1