Writing Prompts I wrote for school

(11-9-20) Eating Soap (SLAM Poetry)

His image dances in my mind every time I close my eyes. He's in my dreams giving me hugs and sweet nothings. I dream of him, yet he doesn't think of me anymore. I've had him in my arms before, and yet star crossed as we are, I have him no longer. We are oil and water and, yet every time I see him I dream of holding him in my arms again.

When I was younger, soap smelled so sweet. The small enticed me and promised me a delicious taste. I was lied to and betrayed by my own assumptions and left with a literal bitter taste in my mouth. I've been told ever since then that soap tastes bad and that drinking enough will kill me. Yet, every time I smell sweet cinnamon or lemony soap, that voice in my head still tells me to drink it. "It smells so good of COURSE it'll taste good." My head is funny that way.

The voice in my head that dreams of him and tells me that I want him is the same voice that says soap will taste good. The l'appel du vide that tells me to throw my phone into the murky water, the one that looks down from heights and tells me to jump, the one that says that sees pool chlorine and says "forbidden sugar". I've had him in my arms before and I know for a fact that we just don't work. I know that I will leave dissatisfied and feeling bitter and betrayed that I ever thought loving him was a good idea. But yet the soap smells so good. Everyone tells me that I will just be hurt and dissatisfied if I try to date him again, but yet I'm sure that soap will taste good this time. It was disgusting last time and everyone tells me it'll still be gross if I taste it again, but surely, SURELY, it'll be good this time, right?

My brain is stubborn, and I know not-that-deep-down, that soap is nasty.