This is a poem I wrote for a school assignment in eighth grade. I’m not sure what’s worse, this poem or the fact that our teacher made us all send them into a vanity press poetry contest publishing scam.


with those little spots like eyes,
and a green shoot of hair
sprouting from the top
Sitting silently on the table
bunched up with others of your kind

Waiting, waiting, waiting...
for the sugar bowl
to be dumped over your head
making you sweeter than you
already are
for someone to pick you up
and bite into you and lick
their fingertips
with delight

waiting like a strawberry should...
to only be eaten by me

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