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

maybe this time it’s different