I bite at the hand that feeds me,
so that maybe it’ll let me starve.
Not out of pride,
but because I have never learned
how to swallow kindness whole.
Each offering tastes like pity,
Each gesture a monster in disguise.
I push away the warmth
before it melts the walls
of ice I hide behind.
They say love is for everyone
but I see a feast where I am never welcome.
My plate missing from the table,
T...