By Kate Fitz
I’ve dowsed myself in honey for so long
Because I was at once more digestible
And more difficult to peel yourself off
But sickly sweet honey only serves
To gorge a swarming of deficient bees
Glutting their desire for an obliging meal
They run their rapacious tongues over my figure
As I offer myself unreservedly each time
Who am I to say no when someone wants to feast?
As I lay supine on the floor
Steeling my body for retribution
Sweet is torture, they whisper
They jam the nails into the soles of my feet
Sneering what’s the use of them when you stand for nothing anyway?
For all the times I tip-toed around conflict
They prise open my jaws
And unleash a searing stream of harsh truths
For all the words that I swallowed down
They splatter a tear-drop trail of acid
Burning as it trickles and festers on my shoulders
For the times a heavy head found comfort there
But they leave my eyes intact
As if to say
Can’t you see what you’ve done to yourself?