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The mother-bird vomits up her baby’s food
She expects the baby to eat it
You know funny how apparently I was
The only one who found that gross

Perched on your hand-made throne
The verbal-vomit was just minutes
From being force-fed into my
Unwilling head

Your discourse shaped my body
In ways food never could
Days of abstinence were triumph
A control

Of myself in ways you
Never could my lips sealed
To toxins in guise of
Succulent food

I was yours to delineate
My body was not mine
Though it was the nest
Of rebellion

The baby-bird swallows with
No gag-reflex and I
Swallowed till I choked
Hungry and broke

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