you divide
your life into
segments.
like a pie
perhaps.
slices of sleep.
of work,
the large
meaty portions
of relationships
and family,
there is
a piece of
being responsible,
the ring of
crust holding
it all together,
then the meringue
covering it all,
fluffy and frivolous,
the nonsense
of you
which is sometimes
all that
people see
or think you are.
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1 comment:
I seem drawn to your food-titled poems. This is a tasty morsel. I may never think of a slice o' pie in the same way again, especially meringue pies.
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