grief is on the platter

i peel myself apart, layer by trembling layer,

lay my soul upon the table like a feast,

seasoned with grief, with love, with rage,

with every wound I was too gentle to name

they take a bite of me

and choke.

spit me out as though honesty were bitter on the tongue

so I gather my ruined pieces again,

dress them in sweeter flavors,

garnish my pain with laughter,

teach my sorrow how to taste beautiful

and once more, i offer myself,

slowly this time, carefully,

letting them consume me in quiet mouthfuls

until they swallow too much of what i hide beneath

and again, they choke.

only now, they die with my name in their throat

so tell me —

am i poisonous?

or are they simply unaccustomed

to devouring something real?