Thoughts on Withdrawing from the Meat Market (An Ode to Online Dating)

I hang on this sharp steel hook.

On display.

Men take numbers,

Wait to be called to the counter.

They look me over.

Decide if I’m too fatty

Or just meaty enough;

If I’ll work in their recipe;

How I’ll taste.

This one just wants my thighs,

That one my breasts.

One goes right for my heart.

I’ve been frozen on this hook for so long

None of them expect it

(Not even me)

When I

Start to breathe again

When my

Blood starts to flow again,

Dripping all over outstretched hands,

When I

Find my voice


And decide

I’m not for sale.


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