unbaked goods

Some people are like patisseries.

An immaculate collection of delicate creations.

Their sugary skin glistening in the windows, their jewellery

And toppings forcing their sparkle in everyone’s faces.

Their glacier cherries winking at every passer-by.

But that’s not you. You’re part of the grubby kitchen

Where all the deformed delights go to die.

 

You’re a strange combination of sweet and sour.

Muffin tops supporting your hips, balance on either side.

There’s flaky pastry floating from every surface.

When scratched, crumbled oats fall from your arms like snow. 

Your back is prickled with lumpy raspberries and crumbs.

Pores filled with cream and custard cursing your cheeks.

Sometimes, a sweet glazing drips down from your eyes and

Lands on your lips, sparkling and stinging.

 

Your torso is like a big ball of dough.

Freshly risen for the second time and begging to be punched.

Roll after roll after roll after roll.

You want to be shaped like a sweetened pear.

Young and juicy, delicious, green, and firm.

But you’re just a stodgy ball of cold, unbaked bread.

Each stretch mark is just a score on your loaf.

You’ll pull and pull at the careful design crawling 

across your stomach until you rip and ruin the dough.

But don’t worry too much, some people like dough.