Daddy's Little Pumpkin
"October is like home to me; and I’m home sick."— Leah Jean
You can say my skin
Is orange and isn’t filled
With sweet potato bruises.
You can say the black
Cat doesn’t cross my path
In unison, caramel becomes
The yellow monarch butterflies
On my ribcage.
My tongue a swollen
Cup of warts waiting to
Explode into unicorn
Glitter like all little girls.
Pumpkins for parents
As my body is a sinful
Excuse for becoming daddy’s
Little pumpkin.
While, Halloween explores
Your body like wide canvas
Of unexplored colors
With bristles dipped in
Hot apple cider causing
Boils.
Becoming a witches
Dinner, a pumpkin
To be carved in her image
Like mage without name.
My skin is peeled, body
Beat with whisks, dumped
In garbage bags, and blue
Bowls of satanic linege
Teeth pulled by monsters
Of daddy’s good nature
And step-mommies witchy
Like behavior howling
To moons that never shine.
I became daddy’s little
Pumpkin the first moonlight
My skin was peeled,
Body baked in honor
To moons that never shined,
I could no longer see.
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