Meat

You crave my honey-glazed legs, relish my breasts with practiced flair. You chip my wings mid-conversation, While dissecting my dressing, Too raunchy, too clingy never quite suited to your taste. You want me plated just right: thighs weighed in grams, skin stretched to your appetite, injected for volume, deboned for ease. my fear tenderized for flavor. Still, palate demands more side dishes to seasoned to disguise the ravine taste buds. I am your blistered indulgence, charred silhouette served hot, just a piece of meat. But my journey to the plate lasted sixty days crammed, in a A4 sized cage under heat lamps. I cried once. But here, crying is considered inefficient. They said my flesh would serve a heavenly purpose- add protein to your ambition. But even my bones bore devotion chewed, splintered and sucked clean.