a poem about bread
inspired by my lunch and shitty relationships.
I Hate Untoasted Sourdough
I hate dragging a blunt knife
through something that refuses
to bend towards me
I hate chewing and chewing
at what will not soften,
at what stays stubborn in the mouth,
and cold as winter
in the centre
I want thoughtful love
Not a worthless purchase
I want those extra few minutes
I want warmth worked in on purpose
I need to feel the effort
Of beautifully ripened avocados
and homemade butter that tastes like cream
I want to see a consideration
For something intricately crafted and – lets be honest,
supreme
I want to be cared for by someone who can handle more
Resulting in a fine plate that’s polished
Not rushed hands serving me something half-abandoned.
And having the audacity to call it finished.
Thank you for reading my work, if you fancy supporting it a coffee would be lovely