You crave my honey-glazed legs,
relish my breasts with practiced flair.
You chip my wings mid-conversation,
While dissecting my dressing,
Too raunchy, too clingy
never quite suited to your taste.
You want me plated just right:
thighs weighed in grams,
skin stretched to your appetite,
injected for volume, deboned for ease.
my fear tenderized for flavor.
Still, palate demands more
side dishes seasoned
to disguise the ravine taste buds.
I am your blistered indulgence,
charred silhouette served hot,
just a piece of meat.
But my journey to the plate
lasted sixty days crammed,
in a A4 sized cage
under heat lamps.
I cried once. But here,
crying is considered inefficient.
They said my flesh would serve a heavenly purpose-
add protein to your ambition.
But even my bones bore devotion
chewed, splintered and sucked clean.
-
Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: July 15th, 2025 09:01
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this as a double entendre. Meat is not a metaphor, it's a mirror held up. It imagery is raw because the experience was real.
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Damaso, Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments4
Brilliant! Past guilt I felt from this write. In my old age I have learned that passion is measured in lb. and oz. Love is measured in happiness two different commodities once in a great while the two come together. A fave.
Thank you for all your words.Some lessons are learnt in a painful way.
You're welcom
Incredible. At times, I was stunned. This writing possesses a powerful intensity. It makes it both real and elevated. I enjoyed it to the end. Thank you so much for sharing it. Best regards.
Thank you for your words.
Wonderfully crafted and written write, really enjoyed the read
Glad you felt that.
Love it
Thank you
You're welcome
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