Spaghetti

Drawing of spaghetti in a bowl with a fork

My resilience is hard
Like her cold, dead heart.
My skin transforms into diamond.
Like Emma Frost
I’m a Marvel of survival.

I’m so hungry
I’m starving
like children in third world countries
like children in America
but I’m not hungry for her shitty spaghetti
I’m hungry for revenge

Not that oily, greasy kind
full of spite and anger
I want that fluffy marshmallow type
like belly laughs and dancing
to Michael’s “Beat It”
after a couple glasses of wine
Like loving fearlessly and recklessly, still
Like smiling when I wake up
just because it’s a new day
like kids on Christmas morning
like kissing new babies
and the smell of their tiny heads

My revenge can be seen
in the corner of my smile
in the spark in my eyes
the steadiness of my hands
and the steadiness of my mind
in my can do, never die attitude

You broke me
You shattered and pulverized me
punched me, kicked me and spit in my face
Called me names like worthless
pathetic and dead space
stripped me of myself
of my confidence, sanity, and manhood
like a medieval castration

But I put myself back together
with glue, duct tape, and grit
If you look closely
you can still see the cracks
the minuet missing pieces
To some I am too damaged
and ugly with all my cracks
but I am like Kintsugi
the Japanese art form
I am beautiful because I am broken

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