To Be Petite

My friend,

you don't need to be petite

your limbs don't need to dangle

you don't need to puke after flour to adopt the idea of becoming a flower

that aesthetic,

to be a flower,

to be a flower

to starve until you can no longer devour

to have a life so busy that you just don't have time to eat

to eat,

to eat

a drop of cheese upon a single wheat

no cumin, no bone broth or brethren,

empty kitchen, in it no gathering

simple, alone,

one two and it's done

no time wasted,

no time wasted

petals upon your cheek

pits behind your knees

pots beneath the leaves

smell, taste

chew, swallow

food? oh i don't really think about it, you know.

it's just something where it's like,

the time comes to consume,

i do,

and it's done.

you're losing weight,

you're losing weight

why do you say it like it's a game?

on the sly, in the down-low through passing

what do you wish to gain from it?

may, admire eyes when it comes to sight

what do you hate

when it comes to taste?

but it's hard for me to eat

i know, i know

it doesn't have to be too much, you know

a miraculous formula

let me show you how good food can be, if we befriend it,

you, and me

the wonderful aroma of spices in mixture

can get you to experience an immediate connection

to your own creation

no! no!

i want no appetite,

i want no appetite

i refuse mortality,

I'm above humanity

the animal kingdom,

it just sickens me

you're right, it does.

why do you wish to be sick?

a stick,

a stick

ye, what a flower,

what a flower!

it's the pressure in peer that gets you so

vogue, you know

I'm sorry to say it so, but society's a

coward, a coward!

i know of the whole within,

that concave pit inhaling

But there's music incoming..

some distant pelicans,

a teaspoon of healing

come, let me spark a possibility

of the misty mixtures behind the blues-

For there's this legend,

that tells of a place

in Louisiana, by the Bayou Cajun,

where slumbers a soup,

its taste derived not from salts or peppers,

but a certain loving,

under a roof with no judging,

a spellbinding fragrance of diced lotus and crushed flowers,

will leave us doting

Sal Aim's internal mansion

she'll make a puree from lies,

and not worry about them likes

in that tiny space there's no food hiding and just so much talking

that there's no time for bingeing shows

and other forms of it per longing, you know

come, there's dancing in that home down south

it's warm, glasses are clicking

so much real laughing

nay, no tinkles from flat mingles

but whole hearty laughs from true hipsters

come, come, come,

that aesthetic,

to love yourself

to simply

let yourself

remember,

museum pieces are left stale behind glass walls

and admired as objects are.