My Own Consumption

My Own Consumption - a poem

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With stained mulberry lips, I ripped open the flesh

of my first and last fig,

sinking my teeth into its juices,

I ate like I was never taught how to.

Wild stares try to break my focus,

but it doesn’t work. I hollow my fruits,

admiring its shell that preserved its sweetness,

its curves are licked until it’s dry.

The other figs fall, but I don’t say anything,

my tongue is wrapped into the one I squeeze,

while others eat fruits of fortune and fame,

I eat the fig that simply said my name.

My cheeks are sticky, but I am fulfilled,

the fig with my name was everything,

but the ones that fall to my feet,

were not ripe enough for me.

I bury true love and family,

all in one hole with smears of the ripe fig,

splattered on my fingers,

because I am all I need.