Poetry Unsalted - Bahshay, Syeeah Jarrule
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To be a poet: She was told to sit on the faded red chair (but it was honey she wanted) With the gray exchange of leather that dated back to 1960. It was a political nonescape phase. She was already broken at the age of two. And told-obey the maze So you aren't cut while they check your eligibility (but it was honey she wanted) Broken from the womb of folded mirrors. But it was too late to drop pennies into the well. All she wanted was to stop the tease of loneliness. Her mother never smiled Maybe never learn't to. So she was told to sit on the faded red chair. And watch the gray exchange of…mehr

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To be a poet: She was told to sit on the faded red chair (but it was honey she wanted) With the gray exchange of leather that dated back to 1960. It was a political nonescape phase. She was already broken at the age of two. And told-obey the maze So you aren't cut while they check your eligibility (but it was honey she wanted) Broken from the womb of folded mirrors. But it was too late to drop pennies into the well. All she wanted was to stop the tease of loneliness. Her mother never smiled Maybe never learn't to. So she was told to sit on the faded red chair. And watch the gray exchange of trees vomiting up their leaves- But all she wanted was honey So her tongue began to scratch at the dryness. She never smiled Maybe never learn't to.