i blow the dust off my culinary treat and they tower over me and spit on what i’ve presented ungrateful, spiteful, unhappy i distribute my truth and it sits sour in the stomachs of those i care for i look at their faces in hopes to be understood they find it revolting every time despite me adding sweetener to my words flipped onto me as though i’m the problem i go back to my abode to sugar coat these words i utter once again to be received more palatable by ears that need tickling
i wrap my childhood needs in soft pink satin cloth covered so they don’t hurt again for a while in a gift box with a bow to be stored on the highest shelf in the closet of my mind i hold the box