Ribbons of flesh
Gore coated viscera
Between it all I've been assaulted
Touched by the cookie cutter
Forced into a shell I don't belong to
Molded to this outline
Put me into your cookie cutter
I was born to be a slut
Sell my body for grub
A penny a day to live
A dollar or more for my sin
Am I fit to your liking?
Do I serve my purpose well?
The tendons of my neck think so,
The cleaver in my shoulder thinks so,
Make me bleed by the cookie cutter
Take out pockets of meat
I'll trade this pound of flesh
If only for freedom from the shape
I don't wish to conform to the metal
Color me outside the boundaries
Created behind a closed door
Separate from 9 to 5
Born on 216 boulevard
Bar me from the 823
Or else I might awaken.
Not formed under
The cookie cutter
YOU ARE READING
The Extras and unreleased
ПоэзияExtra poems that I never felt were good enough or just never released. Some of these poems will be incomplete such as the untitled ones. Some will be weird tackling abstract ideas. I do however think that these poems deserve to see the light. Who kn...
