Poem 2/6

Transginger, & so on

Cut cookies leap off of the pan,
Elated by their uniqueness.

White and pink frosting plastered on their smooth surfaces
Like a bursted bubble over lips.
It didn’t take long until they were lured into society,
Having their decorations stripped away with every
Naysaying opinion.

Tradition.

The crumbling cookies then inject themselves with
Serum of sameness – In a feeble attempt
To preserve their parts like cadavers in formaldehyde.

Bland. Tasteless.
But safe…

Forbid we insult taste buds with a flavor too sweet.

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