Poetry Of A Journalist

Condecending

"You're so pretty"

Pick

Pick

Pick at my skin, rip it off my bones as the blood pours out like a river.

"Please tell me your workout routine"

My head in a glass bowl

Fingers digging deeper

And deeper

And deeper

Into my throat, maybe tear out my vocal chords and play a tune

"I love your hair"

In the shower

Pulling

And pulling

And pulling

At my unsustainable hair, maybe donate it all.

Compliments sound so condescending sometimes.