Everybody Wants a Piece of Me, but Nobody Wants All
A poem about slowly falling apart or maybe coming together.
Everybody wants a piece of me.
They want my smile. They want my laughter. They want my company. They want my advice. They want my pussy. They want my ass. They want my sex. They want my hard work. They want my cooperation. They want my words. They want my obedience. They want me happy.
They want me.
Yet nobody wants me at all.
Not me.
They don’t want my coldness. They don’t want my moody. They don’t want my intensity. They don’t want my love. They don’t want my wild. They don’t want my passion. They don’t want my tears. They don’t want my fears. They don’t want my insecurities.
They don’t want me naked, bare-faced, and haggard.
The old beggar woman that I am, cloaked, grey-haired, hunched, holding on to the wall, whispering.
“Jusssst a morsel of meatttt.”
I am the maiden. I am the mother. I am the crone.
Everybody wants a piece of me, but nobody wants all.
They want the nurse.
They want me to look after their pain now. Shoot drugs up their veins now.
