Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 24
Stop looking at me
as if Iā€™m some
- thing
to swallow up
or spit out.
A berry, black, swollen
ready to be chosen for your
consumption. I sour on your
tongue, assaulting your
taste buds because you
thought the only
- thing
that mattered was the purplish black,
the juice that produced for your
pleasure, my ripe, plump bumps,
my green hands
outstretched ready and there, for you?
Still you pluck and **** and stare
and **** me up with your
barren compliments stripping
my sweet substance
one by one
by one, you
extract it out
of me
Aspen Welsch
Written by
Aspen Welsch  27/F/Ohio
(27/F/Ohio)   
605
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems