these women, they haunt me
with promises of dissipating oils
that cure all diseases
and magical soups
to heal all my hit points,
they are snake oil salesmen
(saleswomen)
they are my mothers, in a way
i strum along to their lilting melody
entranced, lighting incense
to get rid of the salmon smell
my values are written into my skin
an invisible tattoo
telling me to stay lovely
stay kind, stay faithful
but all i can do is sleep
and pretend that they are not approaching
to take all of my silver, all of my gold
and even my soul.
YOU ARE READING
melted
Poetry❝the present was the present, and we didn't even know it.❞ dedicated to kjh and wb highest ranking: #27 in poetry
