You Ask Why She Won’t Eat

She was anorexic in her sexual appetite.

A nibble here, a lick there. She could never have a full serving without vomiting words of disgust in her notebook or expressing deep regret the following morning.

It’s because when she was a girl, a boy took too much. He buttered her up with beautiful words. He fattened her heart with acts of faithfulness. He seasoned her mind with sweet whispers about the future. He did this until she sat, heart fat with lies, hands plump from promises, on his plate.

So when suppertime came, he ate her whole. He buried his face in her thighs, devoured the sugary promises on her fingers, and ripped that ripened heart from her breastplate — still-beating. And when only her skeleton remained, he sucked the marrow from her bones and burped with satisfaction. He left nothing and laughed when she asked him to stay for dessert.

“No thanks. I’m full.”

So when her new chefs ask why she doesn’t eat their sugary words, she stares at them in silence.

She’s been food enough to never hunger again.

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