“Open up, here comes the airplane!”

Once again, you coerce

my apprehensive, little mouth,

open.

another bite.

i chew, begin to

digest.

once again,

as always, disgust

crosses my features

as the sour taste

fills my mouth.

my stomach,

heart,

insides,

begin to burn

as the toxic spoonful

diffuses through me.

but, once again,

you reassure me:

“Don’t worry. It is good for you.”

I believe you.

Why wouldn’t I?

and so, when again

that fateful airplane

makes its return trip,

again i open,

my naive, little mouth.

immediately,

sour.

my insides burn,

pain crosses my face.

but again, you begin to speak:

“I would never hurt-”

but i stop you.

I know better, now,

and my mouth will not,

open, anymore.

for you,

or anyone.

because, i am bigger now.

and i know what it is,

in the spoon.

it is made of the same,

the same as the words you spoke.

some spoonfuls were,

understandably,

because i couldn’t have understood,

so young and naive.

but most,

most lied on the former side,

of bittersweet.

most were for some,

some reason,

i still can’t understand.

but for all the lies you spoke,

i did learn something from you:

i won’t be opening up,

not for you,

not for anyone,

anytime soon.