Pig.

Like the pig, I could accurately describe you as a “hog”… or even refer to you as “swine”; regrettably the two of you share several strong commonalities.

 

Like the pig, your appearance, mannerisms and overall demeanor often causes an onlooker to mistakenly miscalculate what you are worth. You’re often prejudged as nothing more than a product of your filthy environment, though ironically, those who behold you come from the same place you do. They have been force fed the same slop as you, and were even bred into the same ghetto captivity… thus having been prejudged themselves.

 And I ask myself: “how dare them?”

Those whom you encounter limit your uses to a cheap meal, feasting upon you until they’ve had their fill. They then thoughtlessly discard what remains of you… not because they don’t desire to consume you wholly; but because sooner or later they become bored by your assumed simplicity and your anxious desperation to feel wanted. Though you’re sexually seasoned to perfection, you still tend to taste bland after a while. And soon it becomes apparent that even if you marinate in the freakiest or most vulnerable position; your aroma is no longer alluring.

Like the pig, you’re propagated to later be used for leather. And my, oh my how others have worn… and scorned you. You’ve tried many times to unsuccessfully metamorph yourself into the finest of leathers at the request of those less than worthy of your endeavors. And though the majority of your efforts have been in vain, I still applaud your efforts to attain true love:

One of the reasons I fell in love with you is because I thought you could teach me the profoundness of selflessness.

Never have you been bestowed any true affection. And because you’ve always been deprived of genuine love; in conjunction with the pig you’ve developed an enormous appetite. Your hunger is a pain which can’t be pacified because you lack the ability to decipher imitation food, from true and wholesome sustenance. Though your belly is protruding, therein lays an empty, ever deepening void. You’re starving… and anyone which looks, smells, or even feels like it might taste good is devoured by your insatiable craving to envelop that which you’ve never had.

You eat so quickly and so greedily that you’re now unconcerned (or maybe unaware) that your ravenous bites can… harm others… others who actually loved, cared, and would have done anything for you; you have left whimpering whilst they lick the wounds you inflicted.

You’ve become a pig, my love; eating so quickly and so greedily that even when a diamond was fed to you… you didn’t taste the difference. You’ve become accustomed to eating, digesting, and discarding “waste” in the same way you have all the others.

…in the same manner all the others have discarded you.

No matter how hard I try to produce intense hate for what you’ve done to me… my heart can only weep for yours… and my sorrows. Instead of disgust I feel as though I’ve been chewed up by your razor sharp set of 44 teeth, and spat out- the remnants of your sticky saliva still ever present on my person.

Tell me my love, how does one recover after having been eaten alive?

 

 

Reviews

[Kat Williams]

Interesting metaphorical thing going on here...great analogy. I could feel your really wanting to know the answers to your question(s) and also feel the love you felt for her/pig.

Nice write..

[Some Call Me Shari'...]

This piece isn't particularly a poem, but the other choices from which to choose from are even more inaccurate than "poem". I wrote this piece after conversing with a woman who I'll just refer to as a "non-friend" for now. She isn't my enemy, but she isn't my friend either. She does however possess a lot of wisdom to be as young as she is. She made a statement... and I wrote a piece. The tone of this spoken word flow is very solemn. My heart has been broken and the only thing which seems to pacify me even a little, is to write out the pain. (Artists... I know yawl feel me.) So please, tell me what you think. Good and bad criticism is always most welcome. And remember...

I don't write pretty... I just write life.