Neapolitan
He expects me to love him
like kids take to ice cream
and lick the drips, what nerve.
He finds it easy when I ask what
he needs
as he needs what I've got.
Even if it's with white knuckles turning blue,
as I can keep that act up for...
...ever
I wonder how many crumbs
he can drop until I make a cookie,
whole, relax a little
and throw out the self help books
that tell me not to label or define myself
based on men yet encourage that I can
trade in one asshole
to get some new asshole,
if I pretend that I taste like cake,
smell like flowers and
am smart but not intimidating,
brilliant but not so brilliant
they will have to read Freud
to get to the root of any
inadequacies.
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Author's Note
Just a day in the write. Still editing/ working on.
Other stories by Jennifer Donnell
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Looking for Mr. Goodbar?
Wonderful! Tempted to change the title! I also edited it some, still not great but better.
I like this.
"I wonder how many crumbs
he can drop until I make a cookie,
whole, relax a little
and throw out the self help books"
**
"What nerve." *
The honesty here is powerfully winning.
Stark and direct. Strong piece.
"if I pretend that I taste like cake,
smell like flowers and
am smart but not intimidating,
brilliant but not so brilliant"
One of your best that I've read here.