the maturity fig

                                             at thirteen, I set my self up for a gig,

                               all the cooler, older girls, had eaten that “maturity” fig.

                                 it was said to make you pretty as a porcelain doll,

                             that it would make you slender and tall, I truly wanted it all.

                                   i slunk out of my bed at the stroke of midnight

                             with a lurking urge to look ethereal,  to be a gorgeous sight.

                              as I drained all my power to pick the mouth watering fig,

                 a grotesque feeling suddenly dawned over me, it was slipping from my hight!

                                   as the plump, life changing fig pranced away,

              the fact that I’d been waiting for this opportunity a millennium came to bay

                       as I curled into a clump of longing doom and wretchedness

                     i clawed against my skin, the scars forevermore in restlessness.