I am relieved that I let go of your hand and instead ate the hand of God.
Hands arouse the desire to eat and suggest satiety, for one hand tugged violently at my hair while another hand fed me, But I couldn't find a hand to caress me.
It's already April, and my stomach didn't swell as I had dreamed. It remains flat. Is it because I used too little or because I am still dreaming? I find a dream in which I don't run, a strange dream. Perhaps this dream itself will save me from the question.
It doesn't matter; I am still hungry. How many hands do I need to be satisfied? How many bites do I need to fill this stomach? Eating fills my stomach, but questioning keeps me from feeling full.
Is there anything better for a human being than satiety?
YOU ARE READING
Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
