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,

The chair I sit always taken,

Never really mine to claim.

So I snap at the fingers that reach for me.

Tear them away before I start to trust them,

Because what if they vanish,

What if they turn cruel and cold,

What if I hunger again,

What if I trust again?

I bit the hand that fed me,

So that maybe it would let me starve,

Because an empty stomach

Hurts less than a poisoned heart