// I cooked a steak tonight
// and was feeling alien
//
// How weird this gross piece
// of cold raw flesh
// on a cold plate is
//
// and I was thinking
// I am just an animal
// with the luxury of packaged flesh
// and is it human flesh?
// Like
// I wouldn't know
// We just believe it's a cow but
//
// we don't
//
// have fucking proof
//
// of anything
//
//
// The knife went through the same
//
// as if it was my own leg
//
// -Mom
That’s because it is poetry. Mom might need a psych eval, but it’s still poetry (and I love it).
save