Nearly half a decade of pretending not to
Cry and making up lies about why
I missed hockey practice have been
A precise and pin-pricking waste of time.
Snot mixes well with mashed potatoes,
And no one will notice if I add a
Little salt, except for the waitress
Who does nothing to sooth my torture
Except for walking away just before
I can shower her with a light drizzle
Of love and affection. Slicing through
The dead bull and into the plate I'm
Not even allowed to enjoy what I hate.
What cartilage bends, the bone cannot break.
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