Honey By Lucy Tyson

I met a girl as sweet as honeydew,

She told me tales of hot holidays spent

With friends she loves, boyfriends she loved once too.

None of which she forced from herself, content

With the ways they ended, as she saw all

The things she held onto so tight, her life

Before her, peaceful, steady, life she’d call

Her own. Never mine. Her figure a knife

Digging into my flesh, her smile that carves

Paintings of another world I might have

Had, if I had enjoyed the things I starve

Myself of, peace, loyalty, a good laugh.

Her happiness washes over my own,

Taking last shreds of hope from my weak bones.