I am so hungry.
(And I have been for quite some time.)
Sort of itch-like — that I can’t scratch,
but my belly is growling and howling and
it feels very wild-like.
I see this person and they’re hungry too.
(And have been for quite some time.)
Ferociously moaning for something that will stick
to their bones; or belly; or thighs
It’s okay, ya know.
To be hungry. To know you have a fire there
that needs tending to. Hot, stingy fire stuff.
Some rage. Some longing. Some small relief.
I know hunger well enough.
I know an empty cabinet.
A few bones picked clean,
though they’re not all used up just yet.
Cover em’ with water and let em’ release,
More. There’s always more to give.
Bones know. Perhaps we know too.
And I sit here with the knowledge
that I might be hungry for a while.
I get to taste from time to time,
but I am not satisfied.
Hardly am I satisfied these days.
It’s a damn shame,
this wanting more.
Perhaps lessons in enough.
That’s what I’ll be cooking up soon.
Because I am full enough
To be honest
and fair and kind
Pangs of anger and misunderstanding are
also there, rattling around with the
And I hope that when the time comes,
they all get along. Because they are
my insides and they are full of bliss and rage!
Tonight, though. I’m cooking and eating.
For a small moment though,
it is enough.