This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Wells chapter.
The little beastling enjoys crawling out
Of my engorged belly, and within the entrails
it has scraped out of the proliferated seedlings,
Oh, now grown into a wild garden of weeds.
Crabgrass and sumac poisons my throat,
Tickles and bites the lining of my esophagus,
You’ve been lying to yourself, you terrible person
Saliva gurgles and bubbles, sibilates and drools.
Sprouts of ragweed blooms in my throat
And tickles my uvula and curls on my tongue.
You fake, you imposter, you beast!
Tendrils grasp into my sinuses.
You
And now, my body, the cave in which
The little beastling scraped out of,
No longer calls itself a body, but yet
A nursery for long stock branches of weed.