Cooked

Cooked prose poem

Photo by Jacobo Garcia


No more.
Can’t take no more.
Struggle with sanity
is draining me dry with
each passing day.
People pride themselves
in pruning their
puritanical egos to
‘adhere’ and ‘belong’.
Should I too?
Because i ain’t me no more.
Do I have to fit in?
Do I need to gel in?
I and them all
never were like
hand and glove..
A confusion abounds within
Listen to them
or just hear.
Can’t choose one
no better than the other.
My miles lie in front
all scorched from
the heat I take.
I’m not the best dish life ever made.
It didn’t sauté me proper
Just deep fried
and crisp skinned, charred
and salted.
Meant to be soft from within
almost melting and bleeding..
Sometimes.

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