Sugar RushingThe first memory of three year old me, in the kitchen – sneaking.
My hands stuffed in a sugar jar, digging for lumps to devour.
Sugarfaced and slightly guilty, hoping no one sees me.
Ready to retrieve my hand, lest someone find me in this awkward stance.
Now, the jar has been depleted, my hands stuck in what used to be sweetness.
Fingertips touching glass, i can't go forth or back.
I find myself with this compelling need to stick my hands where they shouldn’t, but desire to be.
Poetry by Mangelach
Read 164 times
Written on 2020-10-09 at 20:10
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