Your conceit chilled
Cross my cunt
And made Feathers into lead poking at my dinner.

Your words were so unrestricted in their meaning,
That after 20, going on 21, entire treks up your heartlands,
I came back with only poisonous mushrooms, which
When I boiled to take out the sting,
Cut me like people who hate people who use big words

To shadow their masculinity, which had run away from home,
In quivers of molestation
That roar backstage at high school plays of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,

Dwarfs, dressed like the sun when it was covered by the moon,
Who saw my tiny shaft
Dripping saliva,

A shaft, which, though in tears, saw the betrayed dwarfs
And promised to dress like a woman

Because only women give head To people who whisper:
“Stop pretending”

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