Even my taste buds
are contrarians
I like that about
them
As biology and
volition are often acrimonious
I live an indulgent
peace in the masochistic perceived deprivation
I may appear to
endure when such is neither subjugation nor act
Of hardship
inflicted, but sublimation of the tongue
To retort societal
acquiescence to the allure of sugar
Fuck sweet, give
me bitter
Transpose gravity
with a notion of dignity
I was born to
detest chocolate, icing, cream, whole milk
Mint, butter,
caramel, taffy, and cakes
Give me fruit to
seed fresh from the tree in moderation
No stuffed face to
cloud my mind with transubstantiated confectionary
Bomb the
baker! Protest the yeast! Riot to the quiet!
Keep ration at the
ready and even tip the coffee vats
I neither wish to
speed up my week or slow down my weekend
With the deluge of
alcohol, I want my mind
Unsolicited and independent
of the buffoonery of the happy pause
I want not the
respite of contentment
Never, never,
never shall rest be acceptable
Until every book
of substance has been read
Idea considered
shall this being bow to the oceans of indolence
For I am a
star-gazing mother-fucker!
Casting out
obscenities and inquiries at comets and nebula
Pulling back the
hymen of acceptable topics of conversation
Was that sweet
honey to speak at the dinner table?
Ha, Ha you bastard
let us bask in the blown up baby parts sucked out of mothers
By terrorist
lovers and plantation corporations exploiting poverty’s numbers
I don’t eat what
most do, as if in the end it is not simply something I could choose
As if sexuality,
height, skin color or hair texture, my taste buds
Gave me the signal
to spit out what makes most salivate
I am so happy
knowing what I know now to be born this way
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