a poem
it’s okay to mistake a
butterfly for a wasp. or a hornet for
that matter. you were not trained in the hunt.
your folks only spoke of the devouring.
taught you it was best to be coy
and hide in your hands.
it is no wonder
you didn’t spot the zipper
and loose thread on what
was merely a sheep costume.
it is okay to not accept the
sorry that comes from
a mouth swollen with
lies and broken glass.
you shouldn’t.
you must not let
those who hold skeletons
in the fatness of their cheeks
make a graveyard out of you.
you are not in distress.
you have
hands.
and feet.
and a mouth.
refuse to be a martyr
for someone else’s meal.
don’t let them coddle
you like a little bird
with a broken wing.
