Home-Cooked Meal
Most poets will lie to you at some point
they serve up side dishes of lyrical fibs
so rarely do they serve home-cooked meals
of poetry that sticks to your ribs
forgive my honesty
but when it comes to soul food scripture one on one
I take the cake
from under the baker's thumb
most straddle the fence
and avoid their own heart
but trying to convince you to feel every word
and open up old scars
the kitchen seems a little hot for their liking
so, fast is the food of choice
but preservatives eventually wear away
and all that remains is the voice
the meal
the rage
don't let your pen fall asleep
on the page.
poem by Harlequin Rose
Added by Poetry Lover
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