deepundergroundpoetry.com

Peanut Butter & Cane Syrup

home is where you hang your hat -  
or is it your heart? maybe it’s under  
the bed where my boots chill
just for tonight  
 
I can’t remember what home feels like  
 
twelve years old, my birthday  
my mother says fat girls  
shouldn’t eat their own  
birthday cake or else  
they’ll never get a good man;  
she was certainly right about that  
but fuck her for saying it  
out loud  
 
the basic comfort    
of pancakes slathered  
with peanut butter,  
drizzled in Florida cane syrup  
never fails me  -  
Phil’s mother made them this way,  
patting him on the head  
before kissing his sticky nose
declaring him delicious  
 
I wanted what he had  
so badly,  
I still eat mine the same  
 
 
discovering every thread  
of her abandonment,  
cutting cleanly the cords  
binding her to me  
and me, to her;  
I’m a paranoid ghost hunter  
nervously shining  
my professional-grade flashlight  
carefully into each shadow  
that resembles her outline,  
communicating with the dead  
 
occasionally, I fool myself  
into dramatic wishful thinking  
I have exorciiiiiiiized the demons!  
finally hoping for truth in the mirror  
 
but my reflection still looks suspicious  
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Published | Edited 15th Nov 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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