The world built me for poured caramel curves
& lips like brandy-soaked cherries.
She formed me from clay to be perfect
but I see myself through glacial eyes,
taking on rolls and angles never meant for me
because they surpass human and slide to bovine.

She has abandoned me to dust,
leaving my struggling to cacao and sugar cane.
I was meant to be a modern Mona Lisa
but I ate myself into this cave of obesity,
where the torch-carrying mob screams
blood & repentance.

But I am not cabbage leaves and carrot sticks,
eyes like summer blueberries and corn thread hair.
I was build for flavour and spice,
but they’ve locked me up in açai prison,
judged me by the weight of avocados.
They find me an elephant,
smear feces on my skin.

Seven years of bad luck were fated
even before I smashed the mirror.

(but the image still remains)