3rd Place Winner in Poetry
Filitsa Sofianou-Mullen Creative Writing Competition 2019
I Am Hungry
By Yagama
Poetry
Poetry
1.
I am hungry. I am hungry. I am hungry.
2.
Whether you creep or crawl
born by wind or moulded by water
slithering underground or furry in the undergrowth
No matter who you are.
I want to eat you.
3.
Dinner has commenced
the exquisite glitter of candlelight caught
in the mercurial silhouettes of fine cutlery.
No slurping here.
The delicate bouillon,though made of the past
is the noble colour of amber.
Spoons are gracious and receptive, like Mother
Then it hits you in the main vein anyway, of course -
knives cut through everything at stake
raw blood drips from empty spaces
forks aristocratically poke at emotions
appetizing bits of veiled messages brought to the lips...
and the chewing - you’d think they swallow the pieces whole,
so refined their mouth movements.
But their teeth are sharp.
The salad of confusion sprinkled with apathy doesn’t excite anyone
but then again, we choose the healthy option.
Forgotten pieces of landmines explode between our teeth.
This food is giving me nuclear decomposition.
I am glowing
like a lightbulb.
4.
Beaked, feathered, barking, tethered,
hardboned slimy spiky tiny
big delicious ugly nutritious
chewy and boney crunchy and toasty
crumbled minced and stuffed
oven-baked and puffed
canned boxed and packaged
unpackaged
raw vegan organic uncooked
still alive and kicking
my fingers I’ll be licking
while spooning out your soul.
5.
I think it will last forever
No matter how much I eat, my body remains thin and beautiful
because I don’t eat human food.
I prefer to die.
6.
After I have properly stuffed myself
with foie-gras, black caviar, camels-milk, and the tongues of a thousand hummingbirds
I put two fingers up my throat
and vomit up the world
so I can eat it up again.
It’s an eternal feast!
7.
I found a hair in my soup today
My army is marching on an empty stomach
My feet are aching, I smell defeat.
All I ask of food is that it does not harm me...
The waitress is like, “First come first served! ”
and turns her back on me for now in favor of some fat guys in the corner.
Hunger has the sweetest flavor -
when I see her again she brings God on a platter
in the form of a pork chop.
I pounce on it
the nearer the bone the sweeter the flesh...
Do you feed me because I can’t bite when I’m eating?
Later, I am alone with my indigestion,
closely watching the food that enters my mind
and choking on it in my solitude.
8.
How about some hearts for desert?
A light perversion, good for the liver.
They are bitter
but that has it’s charm.
Especially if you are still hungry.
9.
Aren’t you hungry?
You must eat to maintain the level
you must eat!
I eat myself as a matter of personal preference
slowly chewing through the soles of my feet
to the marrow of my plexus.
10.
I can’t stop.
The black hole inside of me is ever expanding
I swallow all time and matter
shopping.
Shopping is important.
It gives people jobs and keeps them from being hungry.
But I am still hungry.
I think they are too.
11.
A: I’m not hungry for your food.
I refuse to eat it.
B: You can’t.
You must eat your pudding and your muesli
it’s the healthy option.
A: I’m not hungry for your food.
I want to cook my own.
I declare hunger strike.
B: You must eat now
you will eat our food
you will eat our food or we will eat you
funneling obedience straight into your stomach
how do you like it now? thick pipe pushing its way through your rebellious mouth and past
the epiglottis . . .
Are you still hungry?
12.
I AM hungry
my meat is your poison
I want to feed you to the dogs
this thing is eating me alive
13.
The spice pantry of my feelings is burning.
I don’t know who or what set it on fire, it doesn’t matter.
The whole town has been gobbled up
by clouds of spicy smoke
burning eyes and mouths, eruptions of irritated mucus.
Keep your windows shut, lest flavor come in.
The firemen are on red alert: explosions within the spice warehouse
a ton of red peppers and a ton of black ones
kamikaze in nanoseconds, setting flame
to the neighboring coriander and chillies.
Rivers of molten brown sugar flow into the streets,
melting car tires
freezing people into a moment in time
until rescue squads extract them.
Meanwhile, the cardamom is burning with a blue flame,
the air is fragrant with cinnamon and cloves,
people leave their tasks, confused by the strong scent of freedom
The force of the spicy explosions
sends the corrugated tin roof flying into one of the fire engines.
Miraculously, no casualties.
The heat melts all metal within a 2 mile radius
gold drips from bewildered fingers of spouses and virgins ...
The fire burns for days.
The town smells like a dish fit for the gods.
until there are no spices left
all have burned.
From now on, meals will be bland.
This is ok most but not for me.
I like my food to be sinful.
Because I am still hungry
for love.
based on a true story